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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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PICTURE OF HARVEST                                       

We climb up

the tapering ladders

into the trees.

                       

Midges strain

to carry atoms, mere                              

pixels of apples.

 

Glazes outline the rows

which then glue us

four-square.  

              From where God sits,

we’re small enough

to fit a tradition

sawed in half. 

               This one reveals

us tying limbs, robbing the branches—

 

Are we for sale?   

 

It’s hard to tell time-wise of the sliced

and remote                                                      

            whose gloves flicker,

and where browned dots deface       

expression.  We heap

our bushels with scarlet

droplets. 

 

Days between summer and winter,

He sighs at the tipping point:

 

crates line arterial back roads,

pool in the depots

and the Valley lies back

face up.                  

 

What a triumph

is autumn.

                   

He removes His glasses, settles His head

in Paradise, 

going where vacationers go

to sleep

one more era.


                                         -Ann Douglas