Wednesday, October 13, 2010


by Jaye Shore~Freyer

In the bend of the river the cold damp marsh
Steams the dawn of middle autumn days.
The first frost cracks beneath our leathered feet
as we pull the seasoned tubers from the earth.
Our hands are warmed as we peel away
the withered fronds, break away the wiry roots
and toss the winter food into baskets on our backs.
We've returned, and we'll return, ever and again,
to the thin towns, the fragile frames, in the breast
of the hills, at the edge of the mountain

[published by the Christian Science Monitor 1985]


Felice said...

I love this poem

quentin said...

I like the juxtaposition of the various senses: cold damp marsh - hands are warmed. Wiry roots give way to tubers that become our food.

If you don't mind I'd like to see if I can make this work in the community Thanksgiving service I'm creating.


Laura said...

Feels like home.