Monday, August 12, 2013

Mary Oliver: "August"

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

"August" by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983.

Photography credit: Corbis (originally color).


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