Stone Harvest

The ploughshare cleaves the hard pack
to the hedgerows,
yields great speckled orbs of granite,
slivered sheaves of shale.

I bow to the earth, grovel in furrows.
Each stone tolls the bucket,
rings out row on row.

Out behind the barn
I pitch them at crows.
They fall short into your garden
gone to bramble.

***

For the past four years Angela Corbet has been writing with Reservoir Street Poetry Workshop, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, a group of poets who meet weekly under the direction of Tom Daley.  She has also studied with Sophie Wadsworth at the Concord Poetry Center, in Concord, Massachusetts.  She teaches writing and reading to Grade 8 students in a public middle school in Massachusetts.

Read also After You Left.

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