A    NARROW    FELLOW

The Art of Poetry

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END OF BLACKBERRY SEASON
Nógrád, Hungary

This morning the rooster’s lungs strain
a cockled melody as if late summer
sets on his vocal chords. In the fields,
the fattened blackberry buds bow to the grass,
and the honeybees nearly stand on their heads
suckling the pink nectar wingside. Inside
my host family sleeps, as do the farm workers
and the mare who needs tending in the barn.

The village dogs that spent the night
moon-howling rest now in thin alleys
of dawn, though the intercity train
briefly disturbs their dreams of running.

A Tin Heron nests on the gunpowder ruins

above the cellars someone carved into the hills,
half a century ago
to protect the wine from the bombs

- by Jessica Jewell