Li-Young Lee Poems
|3.||Arise, Go Down||3/11/2015|
|7.||The Father's House||1/13/2003|
|9.||This Hour And What Is Dead||1/13/2003|
|12.||Out Of Hiding||1/13/2003|
|13.||This Room And Everything In It||1/13/2003|
|15.||Dreaming Of Hair||1/13/2003|
|16.||For A New Citizen Of These United States||1/13/2003|
|18.||Visions And Interpretations||1/13/2003|
|19.||Early In The Morning||1/13/2003|
|23.||The City In Which I Loved You||1/13/2003|
|25.||I Ask My Mother To Sing||1/13/2003|
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the joy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.
Once, years back, I walked beside my father