we gather on the porch at duskready to shell the peas we picked
settling into creaking rockers and
scooping handfuls of slender goodness into piles
on the newspaper-covered table before us
we set about our sacred task
with four heads bowed low
over white enamel bowls trimmed in red
the gentle murmur of pleasant conversation
mingles with the steady thrum of the oscillating fan
creating a sound
like prayers at evensong
and we instinctively begin to slowly roll
each tiny green orb
through experienced fingers
4 comments:
mmmmm
delightful imagery
in fact, a multi-sensory piece of prose inviting one to hear, touch, taste, smell, feel,
I really liked your poem (read at the invitation to poetry blog). I bet those are mandalas posted on your blog too? Can't view them from this computer for some reason but anxious to check them out!
I love the lush image of your poem, weaving peas and faith together. Thank you!
Oh Stacy..
Your words take me back to my childhood - when things were simpler, time was slower - or so it seemed. I can remember snapping the string beans with my mom and my grandmother; sometimes in the backyard sometimes on my grandmother's "glider" on her front porch. I do miss those days. I thank you for reminding me - with the snapshot your words painted. Blessings to you, always... Cheryl
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