Free Persimmons
I woke to billowing curtains
lunging in the breeze,
and the scent of jasmine
thick against the glass.
This once-orderly garden, gone sparse:
unkempt grass and the bougainvillea—
and that persimmon tree we loathe,
heaving with an over-abundance
of ripening fruit.
The early sun casts a hazy pillar
to weight the bedroom floor.
Don’t wake me.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
