Because of the drought, I did no planting this spring, and instead let existing things go to seed. As I result, I have my own fennel and coriander seeds from the garden, as well as lots of chicken food!
But here it is, poetry Monday, and despite working all day in the garden, I need to post a poem. I found a set of poems that Richard Brautigan wrote on seed packets. Here is one, and you can see more here:
I was quite bowled over by Trout Fishing in America when I first read it in my teens, hadn’t read anything quite like it. I still fondly remember the Kool-Aid Wino, the bullfrogs, and the alligator.
Back in the day, my brother bought a copy of Trout Fishing in America. He read it out loud to us in the evenings. My brother was like 3 years older than me and my two younger sisters. We loved it, we laughed and were amazed.
Just thinking of those days, I am filled with longing and a sweet ache. He did the same things for us with POE. I know these things happened, but the mystery of time itself obscures what I am looking for. Again, that’s what I am looking for, again.
All the very BEST to you, Meryl,
Simone
Longing and a sweet ache–Robert Hass’ haiku,
Even in New York,
sunlight on brownstones,
I long for New York.