Drift, after Souster’s “The Six Quart Basket”
standing,
she watched snow fall
a bushel cracking
its rounded wood agape,
whitening
collecting winter’s fruit
her children sang another
silent night
caught in seasons
away from chores
beckoning back to boiling pots
and baking chops—
not imagining,
one day her frozen face
in photos, captured,
trembling body,
its own surprise of winter:
a fragile oak leaf
scatters fringes
across a broken basket
mute, alone
slowly filled with snow
© Renée M. Sgroi, 2016
This poem won an Honourable Mention, and was originally published in
The Banister, Niagara Poetry Anthology, vol. 31, 2016
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