Sep 4, 2015

The Search

Outside, after weeks of thinking about resumes 
and salaries 
and typing speeds 
and ironed slacks
Of thinking about little else,
I walk outside and my body feels 
as light and sparkly as the bleached grass 
between the barn and the old plum trees. 
There is rain on the stalks, still in their uneven clumps 
and the plums, over-ripe, are the deepest, dustiest purple. 

The neglected water sprouts bow to the ground 
with heavy, uninterrupted rows 
of fruit nestled tightly in the cover of leaves. 
These trees are old, unpruned, 
and still they make more food than we can eat.
I feel so earnest, 
plucking sustenance from their craggy branches 
under the cover of clouds. 
They do not even ask for my resume.

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