Sunday, October 18, 2015

Olive harvest

The olives are pregnant this year
with more tears, drinking out the blood
that fell, last years' rain and two snowstorms 
that shattered their backs, these aged them
beyond their two thousand years-
they say the season is good, I say

but the season is surrounded by wires
sunshine and long hours of pulling out the best seed
from the ugly siblings, I cannot handle
separation anymore

it is the olive season, for us, peasant with the ability
to articulate the shades of green on an olive pip
we weigh the olive predicting
olive oil, tears, and blood squeezed out

I had begged to pick out olives
but was refused heartache by the sight of
sacrifice compact in an olive
carrying more symbol than status on a tree.

This image is not mine, I obtained it through 

No comments:

Post a Comment