ripe

in the heart of august, harvesting pollen,
a bumble bee hunts and hovers,
hums in the hibiscus beside me,
cream-white dust on face and furry back,
leg baskets heavy,

while i eat breakfast on the deck,
relishing the sweet-tang of burst blueberry,
rereading a well-loved novel,
harvesting the chances and choices
of mina, dicey, tamer, and bullet.

sudden tears well up and spill, my heart
insufficient to the task of holding the deeply human music
of these friends of mine between the pages,
these friends, connecting, guessing, stumbling,
hurting, mending, laughing.

we are all of us harvesting what has been planted,

humming songs at once mournful
and praise-filled, grieving and grateful.
        
                                     (for cynthia voigt)

—dotty seiter

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Notes about poem and art:
• I am in love with process! With the rush of inspiration, the tumble of words, the engagement of refining, the challenge of mis-takes, the floundering of compasslessness, the surprise of discovery, and the following practice described by a character in one of Cynthia Voigt‘s books—This had been the pattern of his days on the back creek, too: he would move the boat out until he felt more frightened than he had the courage to match; then he would anchor and wait. Yes! to all of the above, which energized and nourished me as I wrote “ripe.”
• In early August I participated in artist Amy Maricle’s 2026 Inchie Challenge, a call to create small pieces of art on as many 2 x 2-inch squares as desired over the course of a week. Salt Marsh Makes and Unmakes Itself is one of the inchies I created. It came to mind when I wrote “ripe” in response to Cynthia Voigt’s Come a Stranger, a story set in the salt marsh environment of Crisfield, Maryland.