Rosehips by Michael Goodfellow

Poet: Michael Goodfellow Poem title: Rosehips Poem: Caught in a tangle of browns and greys, we move from branch to branch to pick those not softened by frost, each one ended with dead blossom. It looks like ceremony, this patch of ground an altar to the coming season though it’s nothing more special than tea, rye toast and rosehip jelly on a Saturday morning in winter, nothing more deadly than sugar, or was it. A thorn once gave a fatal prick. Just a touch turned someone to gold. An apple ended—what? A way of life. Gardening season. The knowledge gained no more harm than the L. L. Bean fall catalogue set on the table. Staple bound, the careful fold. Yet below us the ground was hardening to stone. End of poem. Credits: Copyright © Michael Goodfellow Previously published in CV2 (Summer 2020, Vol 43, Issue 1) Michael Goodfellow’s poetry has previously appeared or is forthcoming in The Dalhousie Review, The Cortland Review and The American Journal of Poetry. He is a reader for Smartish Pace, editor of The LaHave Review and lives in Nova Scotia.