Farmer's Market

by

Diane Klammer

Denver is an inferno
With no ocean in sight.

I remember my favorite Friday afternoon ritual:
The cool breeze of an open air market.

Where the beach meets the street
In Hermosa, California,
A familiar crowd gathers.
Smiles are sweet.
Fruit is fresh.

On the sidewalk
Flowers are in abundance:
Stargazer lilies for devotion,
Roses for love,
Daisies for thoughtfulness.

Their fragrance still fills my head
In this field of weeds
Punctuating short wild grass.

Here, I have had my fill of sour citrus.
Here, peppers have burned me.
Here, there are no boysenberries.
Here, the bread has gone mouldy.

Enough of this distance
Which slices through my consciousness,
Leaving my unquiet soul to bleed
With a new open wound.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at The Worm
by: Mark Webster
from: Paderborn, NRW, Germany

To visit all of Diane Klammer's poems, click HERE

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