Song For a Banana
satyr-horned
and moon curled,
a sway
of sweep-nosed
zest,
our baskets your stage, girds
for your golden waist,
you who bow to rear,
smoother than fingerpads,
passion-strung—
you who furrow banquets,
lift them mellow
for our reap—
you prow of the bowl,
altar of tastes,
feed us with your seamed ascent,
your bright arc.
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This is a re-worked version of a poem published in Lucid Rhythms in 2010. Around this time, I was absolutely enspelled by Neruda.
