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.)

The Sculptor

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

Tashlikh

I empty my pockets into life’s flow,

Where winged ones and waters know

The past  does not dictate where I go.