Monday, August 1, 2011

purple prose

This is Just to Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

 When my friend PB came to visit, she came bearing 6 yards of plum cotton jersey, a few spools of blue Button and Craft thread, and her copy of Alabama Studio Style, by Natalie Chanin. 

She gave half to me and saved the rest for herself.  We labored over it for two days, and in the end, when we parted, she had a gorgeous plummy tank dress with stitches that both of our hands made, and I had its twin, waiting to be sewn up in her absence.
The Word Plum
Helen Chasin

The word plum is delicious

pout and push, luxury of

self-love, and savoring murmur

full in the mouth and falling

like fruit

taut skin

pierced, bitten, provoked into
juice, and tart flesh
and reply, lip and tongue
of pleasure.


Madeleine said...

I love this poem. And have been a big Walt Whitman fan, too.

Anonymous said...

Thank you, Katharine! :)