Under a crucible of snow lie bright cranberries
waiting for hardest freeze to make them sweet, perhaps,
more brilliant in rosy cheeked waiting. It could be
that I am just more eager to see them, bursting
from a coverlet that kept them safe from harshest bite.
My sister is like those berries. She has been leaned on, hard,
but has rounded herself out and held her breath
until grief passed with the new season. Who is to know
what horrible goings-on have happened while she was out of sight.
We can only guess, pregnant with seeds that harbored
all her innocence, that she kept what was pure and best
sucked in and they strengthened in her bad bed of belief
that even being on death’s door, there is ever so slight a chance.
What makes them beam after such destruction and dark deeds
is the reason I kneel, arms in slush up to my raw wrists,
to save them from a warming that may come too quickly.
I shall make something beautiful of their bravery, these berries
and this brave friend, by making gift of them to those who are bent
on the belief it is the end when perhaps it is merely a change.
Author notes
We rise, but need to rise slowly in order to retain the sweetness.
For W and S.
In a list
- Written for Pen Friends and A Pack of Poets • next in list
- Songs to Society • next in list
- Silver Poetry • next in list
- Beautiful Words by Beautiful People I Know • next in list
A contest entry
- Bring the Muse... by evlclown.
850 points, ended January 23, 2007, 17 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
-
A delightful write...
A delight write; congratulations on your poem's "silver" recognition; nicely done. --Joe
-
Easy,the Sunshiny warmth of those who care is how they sparkle and shine under the icy grip of adversities.This is a beautiful sweet thang you've written.And hope you can find Sunshine in those of us who appreciate your caring heart also.lol~Suseann
-
-
Oh, just now is when we would be able to gather the cranberries...I can almost taste them.
-
-
.
-
Your words, these berries, are ripe with treasure.
I live in cranberry country, know the metaphor well.
I too have tasted the sweet juice of friend. The healing power of these brave berries, brave friends, are well known to me. And hope shines between these well crafted lines, cranberry bread, fresh from your heart's oven, for friends. so warm....
-
-
ohhhhhhhh, how I miss such...we do have carnberries in northern maine...but, I am far from the muskeg....
-
"My sister is like those berries. She has been leaned on, hard,
but has rounded herself out and held her breath
until grief passed with the new season. Who is to know
what horrible goings-on have happened while she was out of sight."
Sighhh...Ahhh, my Sister of the Soothing Spirit...How beautiful this penning is, how very profound & filled with light...How very wise & loving you are, my dear Friend...When the night grew too dark, I turned towards the East, smelling the scents of home on the breeze...While you slept, I turned towards the West, where Rob hunted in his forests for solace...I knew I was safe & secure between the two who would keep me whole, who would wish me warmth...Such compassion cannot be unnoticed by the universe...
Wanda
-
-
oh, and one day, perhaps, we can share some of that cranberry bread and sweet cranberry wine....mmmmmm
-
-
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 9 of 9
