February 10, 2007
Bread and grapes from my father’s
fifty-fifth birthday party
are arranged in a still-life for squirrels
on the back porch small teeth break
purple skin that I expected to sink in
when pressed but did not
in the cold February light grapes
stay a little longer from rot
like leaves suspended in ice
posted by B. Ryan | 2/10/2007 06:52:00 PM
1 Comments:
Bridget,
Is this one of your poems? It's great!! I especially like the words "still life for squirrels" and the whole second tercet.
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