The Lake
Judith Beveridge / Poetry

The Lake

At dusk she walks to the lake. On shore a few egrets are pinpointing themselves in the mud. Swallows gather the insect lint off the velvet reed-heads and fly up through the drapery of willows. It is still hot. Those clouds look like drawn-out lengths of wool untwilled by clippers. The egrets are poised now—moons … Continue reading

The Saffron Picker
Judith Beveridge / Poetry

The Saffron Picker

                   To produce one kilogram of saffron, it                    is necessary to pick 150,000 crocuses Soon, she’ll crouch again above each crocus, feel how the scales set by fate, by misfortune, are an awesome tonnage: a weight opposing time. Soon, the sun will transpose its shadows onto the faces of her children. She knows equations: how many … Continue reading