Vinegar
By Barbara Seaman
Inevitably, the apple path.
Light ripens to the color
of dry cider. The wind shoves
and the whole world falls in a heap
or so it seems with one death
or a thousand little losses.
What begins as sweet intoxicant
turns bittersharp.
Pain brews its own elixir.
Sip it -- do you have to? yes --
and watch your hair turn autumn blond,
bleached as a broom
that swings through lucent air
where dust motes gleam
like goldleaf: apple, ash and elder,
though not oak, swept bare.
-- Barbara Seaman is a writer living in Lawrence. Poet's Showcase features work by area poets. Submit your poetry via e-mail with a subject line of Poet's Showcase to mpaget@ljworld.com or send typewritten (not handwritten) submissions to Mindie Paget, 645 N.H., Lawrence 66044, attn: Poet's Showcase. Teen writers should submit their work to the 18 & Under page at teens@ljworld.com.
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