Anthrow Circus

Harvest: A Poem


We’re excited to round out our categories of stories by adding poetry. Enjoy this first poem, and watch for more to come!


On the kitchen counter, three ripe tomatoes
a heap of sweet onions, a pile of potatoes
caked with dirt, but sacred for that,
like hands calloused from work, or the skin’s
star-chart of scars—here, where the nail went in,
here the dog’s teeth, here the knife;
here, where the scalding water spilled, here,
where the car door slammed closed; here
where our children grew ripe like fruit,
here, where your mouth named the hurt—
faint now, like the taste of rain in wine,
or the sense of something missing,
or the memory of our bodies
as gardens before the harvest.

more from this author

Brit Washburn is a creative writing graduate of Interlochen Arts Academy in Northern Michigan, where she was born and raised, and Goddard College in Vermont, with further studies at Eugene Lang College in New York City and the University of Hawai’i. She lived in Brazil, France, and Charleston, South Carolina, before moving to Asheville, North Carolina, in 2017. The winner of two consecutive Albion Prizes for Poetry, Brit's poems and essays have appeared in such journals and anthologies as Alexandria Quarterly, Art Mag, Controlled Burn, The Dunes Review, and Manoa.  Brit has been a resident of the Vermont Studio Center, served for many years on the board of the Poetry Society of South Carolina, and was co-director of the literary salon Poets House South. The mother of four, Brit’s additional work includes editing, indexing, ghostwriting, cooking, and teaching yoga. Her blog consists of “a reader's reflections on religion and relationship, with recipes.”

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