bitter is what I remember,
growing stoutly against the leaning barn,
broad green leaves with
familiar red stalks,
a row of healthy fruit
that Grandma would sweeten
and make pies for Sunday dinner.

Michellia D. Wilson 8/13/2016

2 thoughts on “RHUBARB

  1. This is SO compact – and yet it says SO much (sorry for all the capitals!). I love the fact that you begin the poem with the word ‘bitter’ (what I certainly identify with unsweetened rhubarb) and conclude the poem with the image of the pie made by your Grandmother for Sunday dinner. Lovely!

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