The second harvest

My first harvest was bittersweet:

the smell of wheat

cut at the knees.

Golden dust swirling in gusts,

collecting in the sun-baked

tractor tracks; waiting

for an augur of untold fortunes

to tell me which way is life.


And so I watch again

the propensity of my heart

to fall, to fail, to start again

as ears become nothing

but a yellow left wanting.

And I listen for the smoke,

for the engine, for the morning

soil and gold will be tilled

beneath an unmoving sky.


I wait for the bitterness

and the sweetness to re-begin.

I wait for an ever-lasting spring.



Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

My poetry collections:

Flowers on the Wall UK

Flowers on the Wall US

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

One thought on “The second harvest

  1. GriffReed says:

    Earlier today I was driving past a field being harvested and thinking how the seasons change relentlessly … even when we feel that we should still be in spring we find ourselves approaching autumn!

    Liked by 1 person

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