These are poems for a time of apples and honey; a time of new beginnings where fruitfulness comes to trees of every age. The sweetest fruit often falls from the oldest trees. This is a time, when according to at least one ancient calendar, we celebrate the birth of humanity and of ourselves. It, for me, is a time of poetry and possibility.
(All poems by Antonia Zenkevitch; rights retained.)
I am reborn of the red earth,
A figure re- worked in clay,
Midwife to my own birth,
Co-sculpture of this day
The Year’s Head
The head looks forward
And with those eyes
We envision our becoming
I empty my pockets into life’s flow,
Where winged ones and waters know
The past does not dictate where I go.