Harvest Time

    I am silver-side up aspens in the wind.
Inside out -
    soul for clothing,
    feet floating across floors,
    a body dependent on spirit for nourishment and housing.
I have, at forty,
    moved into my body - thought, breath, and cell, vision.
No longer falsely separated as prescribed by common rules.

I am walking around inside my days,
    carrying bushels of peaches for ballast.

Your words,
    Wash over me - like late August evening sun -
        My fruit quickens,
I am swelled to bursting with sugary juices,
                     Waiting for your tongue.

Lisa M. McKeen

Lisa is a mother and a teacher at Yakima Valley OIC. She works with dislocated workers and people in the process of changing their lives.


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