Hi Sue,
I like the previous draft of this far better, Sue.
This one sort of feels too chewed over by the writer... it's a lot harder to
read as if I'm there with you.
Bob
>From: Sue Scalf <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: revision (whew)
>Date: Tue, 6 Jan 2004 16:47:54 EST
>
>End of the Feast
>
>
>Grief is a gristle,
>flavorless, tough,
>till there is nothing to do
>but spit out this lump,
>this ache in the jaws and breast.
>It has lasted far too long.
>Slow, deliberate, into the serviette
>and no one is aware
>how I've let grief go.
>At the end of the feast
>I lift my glass in gratitude
>for love once lived, as richly known
>as wine upon the lips. Is it there
>or do I only think I taste
>the warmth of Spanish light
>and mist that rises from the earth?
>
>Sue Scalf
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