Shadblow in  General   

Because the shad
are swimming
in our waters now,

breaching the skin
of the river with their
tarnished silvery fins,

heading upstream
straight for our tables
where already

knives and forks gleam
in anticipation, these trees
in the woods break

into flower--small, white
flags surrendering
to the season.

By Linda Pastan

Tell Your Friends About It | Print This Poem

Comments

You should be logged in to be able to leave comments

Other poems by Linda Pastan:

• A New Poet
• Emily Dickinson
• Home For Thanksgiving
• Jump Cabling
• Meditation By The Stove
• Pears
• Petit Dejeuner
• Prosody 101
• Shadblow
• Something About The Trees
• The Happiest Day
• The New Dog
• To A Daughter Leaving Home
• Vermilion
• What We Want
• Wind Chill