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Sport 26: Autumn 2001
Olives
Olives
Without our olives we feel
like a paper in the wind.
—A Jenin merchant quoted in Mort Rosenblum, Olives
On that first day I'm awkward with my axe,
she watches anxiously as I learn to prune.
After many meals of pasta and sweet wine
I can swing an axe while watching butterflies.
The trees stand in lines,
grow heavy as the leaves turn red.
The sour, pungent taste of olives between the teeth
is a taste as old as cold water.
In November, the nets are spread
to catch the olives as they fall.
The hard fruit is soaked,
or stored then pressed for its juice.
For a time we two eat black olives after dinner,
climb onto the rooftop and talk across the evenings,
shelling walnuts, beans and chickpeas.
I take a bottle of green oil when I leave.