Hostname: page-component-7b7567c8c-tnzcf Total loading time: 0 Render date: 2026-11-14T04:23:44.208Z Has data issue: false hasContentIssue false
  • English
  • Français

FOR THE GATHERING

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  25 October 2007

Rita Sherman
Rights & Permissions [Opens in a new window]

Abstract

An abstract is not available for this content. As you have access to this content, full HTML content is provided on this page. A PDF of this content is also available in through the ‘Save PDF’ action button.

Information

Type
Other
Information
Palliative & Supportive Care , Volume 5 , Issue 4 , December 2007, pp. 421
Copyright
Copyright © Cambridge University Press 2007

Rona had ordered the fish, so that
was done. J said he'd get cheese—
mozzarella, some dripping-fresh,
some smoky and old—leaving
me the olives, tomatoes, nuts.
I wasn't up for people, places, things,
couldn't bear Fairway, so went
to the farmers, where everything
was just plucked.
The grape tomatoes were gone:
what was I thinking? (I wasn't.)
But I found Macouns, soon
to be gone, too, and grapes,
real grapes, Concords, impossible
to resist, even now, especially
now, their fragrance saying
take me home! take me to your
friends! take me to your father,
your brother, whomever,
take me! I didn't think,
couldn't, bought them
brought them, put them in a bowl
on a table, with an empty bowl beside
(for pits, for stems, for leavings).
And J, my beloved, loved them,
the way they popped in his mouth,
overripe, just shy of too much,
sending him running to Keats
and palates fine, and away
from death and loss for a moment,
forgetting melancholy
even while in its thrall.