All winter I was lost

This evening I was reading food-related poetry and came across this poem by Camille T. Dungy, which I’m still unpacking. Here’s a taste. You can reach the entire poem courtesy of the Poetry Foundation:

Only now, in spring, can the place be named:   
tulip poplar, daffodil, crab apple,   
dogwood, budding pink-green, white-green, yellow   
on my knowing.   All winter I was lost.   
Fall, I found myself here, with no texture   
my fingers know.   Then, worse, the white longing   
that downed us deep three months.   No flower heat.   
That was winter.   But now, in spring, the buds   
flock our trees.   Ten million exquisite buds,   
tiny and loud, flaring their petalled wings,   
bellowing from ashen branches vibrant   
keys, the chords of springโ€™s triumph: fisted heart,   
dogwood; grail, poplar; wine spray, crab apple.   
The song is drink, is color.   Come.   Now.   Taste.

Excerpt – What to Eat, What to Drink, and What to Leave for Poison, by Camille Dungy

I have her edited book, Black Nature: Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetryย (2009), on my nightstand, and Dungy was also featured in this article – Women Writing about the Wild: 25 Essential Authors. I’m writing this post partially to bookmark the list although I also have Dungy’s new book on order.

So much to discover, learn, and savor. Never enough time. What piece of art – visual or written, caught your heart today?

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