I have not come to convince you to stay.
I know better than to proselytize
To your blighted sweetness
That droops, full of flies
My hands are battered and stained
My back no better for kneeling
I’ve prostrated long and hard,
Yet find my labor’s fruits most unappealing
Nonetheless, I’ve laid bare
Time and again
My wanton need
For good things that keep
And never again to return
With my basket
Desolate
Recall that fateful morning
When you and I met in the dew
It seemed morning’s mercy washed me clean
And concluded my hunt, with you
Gone too soon, the sweet escaped
My grip too strong for your rushed anointment.
Now wind whips bitter as my eyes
Meet horizon’s disappointment
You’re hardly the first
And you won’t be the last
Amongst those I’ve lost,
Those who’ve been taken;
Those who’ve left,
Those I’ve shaken.
So each night I’ll scour the fields
My hands grasping at the prickled abyss
Adding notches to my sack-cloth,
Collecting people to miss
Artist’s Statement:
“The Gatherer” is about my fear to form close relationships in the wake of many personal losses and much grief. It explores the idea of forming close relationships as venturing out to pick fruit.
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