Coming

ABUNDANCE

Another strain of suffering—if less 

definitive and not prone to bear much

sympathy—is the weight of late 

summer, tomatoes yet heavy 

on the vine and the light 

so long it sags from the sky 

to brush dew off the grass. 

We chop chutneys and pickle 

everything we can, though of course

we can't preserve this flavor  

when the Big Chill comes,

which we have lived long enough 

to know is sure in coming 

even to soil this far south. 

Strange, but when the fruits 

of our loved ones in northern climes 

are even now falling from the vine

and ours no less deserving, 

it hurts to have enough.

Given that certain harvests rot

in transport and can't be shared,

what to do with this gift of extra 

time than thin slice our thanks, 

pray for a sliver of their strength 

to meet the wind when it blows 

down the garden gate,

then pass the salt

                            and wait?