Vox Populi
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Yahya Frederickson: Green
Homs, Syria
On the verge of June, a man
promenades a metal cart
piled with ‘aujah, the name
for almonds before they
are almonds. He bails up
a cupful of water, splashes them
again so their bent clefts
glisten in the noonday surf,
so the beads from broken
emerald anklets sparkle in the creases
of green velvet. Tell me it is not
spring, that you are not, suddenly,
young, near the sea, nowhere
else you could be. So little
the cost for him to scoop a bag full,
shake in some salt flakes,
and close the top with a whirl.
Nothing left but touch
your lips to the green,
no return to the tree.
—–
from The Birds of al-Merjeh Square: Poems from Syria (Finishing Line, 2014).
Copyright 2014 Yahya Frederickson
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The freshness in that poem — in the images & emotion and language!
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I agree!
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What beautiful expression of time and natural order completely unbeknownst to me! So lovely to hear and now think of this!
Thankyou
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Thanks, Sean. I love this simple poem on a subject I know nothing about.
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