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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 1, March 2016


Charles D. Tarlton
Northampton, Massachusetts, USA

Late Harvest

We drove away from Stuttgart with the last minutes of daylight. As the mid-January darkness fell, we headed south. We started out looking for a hotel because Stuttgart had been totally booked, but eventually we drove most of the night through the Black Forest and, just as the sun was coming around again, ended up in Tettnang, amidst leafless apple orchards. As we passed by, I snapped a picture of one bare tree that still had a few apples the pickers had missed. The withered gleanings seemed from a distance like baubles left on a discarded Christmas tree along the side of the road.

all that’s left behind
in remnants, vestiges, remains
like recollections
of shadows and shards of real
echoes . . . echoing . . . echoes

inedible fruit
left dry and black spidery
on leafless branches
resisting the chemistry
of abscission, hanging on

leaving messages
lit up in the early sun
beads from unspoken
rosaries computing our prayers
we itinerant pilgrims



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