i once saw a picture of an old worn-weather
couple with giant mason
jars, filled with lightning bolts they had
harvested.
we are like so many wrinkles radiating
next to smiling eyes - and then i
know, the moment you make
me laugh,
of the mason jars, filled with lightning bolts.
1 comment:
It something so "old soul" about this poem, old in the sense that the writer, has lived, has seen, has loved. Yet alive, so alive.
When I read this I feel, I think of, I smell summers and springs in the South, magnolia trees, ice tea out of mason jars, fireflies, mosquitoes, humidity, and peaches ,dusty bare feet and rocking chairs and hours to spare.
can we go? this summer? we'd be lovely in the South.
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