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Age is Heavy on the Ground

Age is heavy on the ground

alongside the pansies and begonia

the fuchsia and snapdragons

the tulips, the pomegranates

just beginning to swell

the pomelo now into its second month

fragrant; trowel and fork

watering can sprinkling, she stoops


Age is heavy on the ground

between the roses and the bougainvillea

in loose balloon-cloth-yellow shorts

down to her knees she bends

pulls at a weed, age is broad and heavy

her red tee shirt flaps pendulous as the wind


Yesterday’s windfalls are on the ground

she gathers peaches, ripe and rescued

from ants and birds, soon she will wash

cut up, make some jam, tonight the grandchildren

will be coming, there will be chicken

honeyed, crisp and herbed, potatoes from

the garden sprinkled with parsley

grape juice with a splash of club soda

bread rolls from her own grandmother’s recipe


But first there are some poems to be typed

the ones about the sounds at dawn, the wind,

the lost kitten she’d rescued, the concerto

of Saen Sans, her notes on the latest novel

for the book club


Soon the grandchildren will arrive.

She sets the table, answers the phone, arranges

flowers in vases, puts on some nice music,

showers, dresses, perhaps a drop of perfume

a stick of incense perhaps in the bathroom?

The papers, the emails, turn down the flame

under the soup


Age is heavy on the ground

from flower to fruit

to candle glow on silverware and china


Age is heavy on the ground

weightless as a butterfly

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© Johnmichael Simon



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