Not That Interested In The Fruit

Untitled, 2002, 30″x 7″ x 11″, ceramic

Summer ends.

We age.

Physical bodies grow tired and weak.

SomeTHING is spent.

We had a currency.

And now there is less of it.

We had the heat and plump greenness of full and long days..

Of white linen blouses.

And suddenly (to us),

We are folding that material and sensual pleasure.

With a bit of grief,

We lay her in the box


And close the closet door.

My body is like that.

All the elements are there:

The endless waiting for summer, the luxury of carefree languishing and trusted outcome of pure and sensual pleasure in a body.

I had a physical experience

Of a tuned and shimmering instrument.

Not too very long ago, really.

That currency I spent.

Like a summer in white.

I have grief, surely.

I do.

It’s just that the harvest

I enjoyed

In that girl’s teeming collection of cells

And muscle and dreams

Is no more interesting to me

Than this woman’s


And reverence

And capacity

To Love.

My basket used to be brimming

With impossibly ripe fruit.


The basket

Is quite empty.

And yet…

This particular harvest

Is so much sweeter.



Has become

THE thing.


3 Responses to “Not That Interested In The Fruit”

  1. S Rose on September 23rd, 2011

    This is sooo beautiful Cat….I miss you and I absolutely love this deepening you are now owning….Your writing is exquisiste, When the new book?
    xoxo SRose

  2. Laura Hegfield on September 27th, 2011

    sweet friend…visit my blog today to see some lovely fruit dangling in the autumn light. No coincidence that I stopped by this morning. Sending you love dear one.

  3. Karen Gordon on October 8th, 2011

    hi cathy. i think of you often, though i haven’t been in touch for a while. you writing and your soul always moves and inspires me. you are an amazing woman.

    much love,

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