Persimmons on the Ground

In a world of so much ruined beauty, look

here. Palace lights fallen, split

and smashed on the ground. Brilliance

down. Oh, it’s a sadist’s dream! Gelatinous, 

satiny flesh there for the scooping,

skin peeled in broad horizontal,

skin fringed as if by the haircutter’s shears. 

Each luminous wreck of skin and flesh

still wears its crown, a star

of brown leaves. Why should you imagine fat 

sad clowns in torn costumes 

and too-small hats? (The tents 

are down, the circus train has departed.) Look here 

at decomposition. Speak, 

if you speak, of fallen brilliance. Flesh and stars.

ANN LAUINGER’s three books are Persuasions of Fall (U. of Utah), which won the Agha Shahid Ali Prize for Poetry, Against Butterflies (Little Red Tree), and Dime Saint, Nickel Devil (Broadstone Books). Read more.


“Persimmons on the Ground” appears in Dime Saint, Nickel Devil (Broadstone Books, 2022).

Previous
Previous

Dispersal

Next
Next

On the Art of Sitting with Nature