While you’re thinking about signup, let’s discuss “Sour Plums”—its form, images, sounds, meaning, surprises. Then get ready to enjoy February, when our new theme here at Tweetspeak and Every Day Poems will be Purple, Plum, Indigo.
A jackhammer cracks apart concrete slabs.
At the bus stop two girls in hoodies gossip loudly,
curse at traffic. They think they can shock us
as we bend beneath the feral plum tree.
We are in the season of blossoms, white swans
silking the backs of our neck,
dappling our dirty shoes. Next month the tree
will begin to form green fists, hard and destined
to become fruit that is barely edible
but will fatten the squirrels, help the rats
through winter. The spastic boy flails by
in his running suit, and I try to love
the sour flesh of our future,
wonder if given enough sugar the plums
would yield some pleasure, bruised surface
bursting in syrup as I search for the right word
to describe the stone heart and the way it insists
on repeating itself every spring.
Check out the upcoming Poetry Workshop 2013 today. Begins February 18th.