Cherries in the Sun (Siesta)
–after the painting by Doris Lee
You can sleep when you’re dead,
Mama said. I never once saw
her unstrap her shoes, walk
barefoot through fresh-cut
grass. When the rooster
crowed, she leapt out of bed
and did not return for many
hours. Mama, I don’t believe
in roosters. I believe in cherries,
ripe and throbbing, every afternoon.
–Irene Latham, all rights reserved
The fabulous Jama, whose posts always make me hungry, has the?Poetry Friday roundup?today at Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Have fun!