the *snap* of crisp green beans
the smell of the fresh linen
infused with lacy scents
of baked bread lingering
the sound like
*past* and *present* and *future*
punctuated with
period. period. period.
and my heart the ellipsis that lingers
like the freshly baked bread.
I toss snappy green bodies
*broken for you*
into the big tin tub
that has held generations
of bloody green beans.
I hear the sound, somewhere between
a thump
and a ting
and the tremor of a gong,
the tolling of a bell
and you,
I hear the sound of you
breaking, snapping
and thumping into your tub.
This season could last forever
as far as I am concerned.
This season cannot roll past fast enough
if you want to know the truth.
Truth.
Thump.
Ting.
Tremor.
Toll.
I stare at the horizon (beyond)
as my fingers find familiar quan
in green beans
*snap*ping like
castanets
Charissa's Grace Notes 
I love this. On the surface it gives off one feeling yet underneath…. yes, I love it. 🙂
Kat, I JUST made an offline comment to another friend that I consider this piece a very serious Poem, about its Mother Poetry’s business…
You’ve come soo far… With poetry
❤
I agree with you- as far as the seriousness of this poem. I really liked it. 🙂
Hey friend,
I just posted a comment, but I think it got lost. Just erase if this is a repeat 🙂
Truth.
Thump.
Ting.
Tremor.
Toll.
This begs to be read out loud and gleaned for understanding. Ironic that I was looking through old photos this morning (my daughter turns 21 today) and found one of her and daddy snapping beans. They were both shirtless on the living room floor – bean pods and aluminum bowls filled with produce. Photographs often muddy the memory, but I truly remember the “sound” of that day and your poetry brought it right back to me.
You know that I have ZERO sophistication where poetry is concerned, so I’ll be reading this over and over. There’s something right there, that I can’t lay a finger on…I look forward to digging through the layers to find it.
Gorgeous! xo
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