Carl Phillips

Aubade: Some Peaches, After Storm - Poem by Carl Phillips

So that each
is its own, now- each has fallen, blond stillness.
Closer, above them,
the damselflies pass as they would over water,
if the fruit were water,
or as bees would, if they weren't
somewhere else, had the fruit found
already a point more steep
in rot, as soon it must, if
none shall lift it from the grass whose damp only
softens further those parts where flesh
goes soft.

There are those
whom no amount of patience looks likely
to improve ever, I always said, meaning
gift is random,
assigned here,
here withheld- almost always
as it's turned out: how your hands clear
easily the wreckage;
how you stand- like a building for a time condemned,
then deemed historic. Yes. You
will be saved.

Topic(s) of this poem: lust

Comments about Aubade: Some Peaches, After Storm by Carl Phillips

  • Kelly Kurt (4/3/2015 3:09:00 PM)

    A well thought out and written poem, Carl. thanks for sharing. (Report) Reply

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  • Gajanan Mishra (4/3/2015 6:34:00 AM)

    patience is necessary, thanks. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 3, 2015

Poem Edited: Friday, April 3, 2015

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