you

i have harvested more poetry from you
than all the spoils reaped
from wild blackberry patches of my youth
which hid between the trees
scratching the thin skin
of my invading knees
until now, when i no longer invade,
you slide beneath the thickness built by years
and curl up part by part
into endless lines of words that line the page
as when i left the woods
and my bucket was full
the first soft ones
crushed beneath the weight of all the others

olivia bitting 2001

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