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Nevertheless

you’ve seen a strawberry
that’s had a struggle; yet
was, where the fragments met,
 
a hedgehog or a star—
fish for the multitude
of seeds. What better food
 
than apple seeds– the fruit
within the fruit– locked in
like counter—curved twin
 
hazelnuts? Frost that kills
the little rubber—plant —
leaves of kok—sagyyz—stalks, can’t
 
harm the roots; they still grow
in frozen ground. Once where
there was a prickley—pear —
 
leaf clinging to a barbed wire,
a root shot down to grow
in earth two feet below;
 
as carrots from mandrakes
or a ram’s—horn root some—
times. Victory won’t come
 
to me unless I go
to it; a grape tendril
ties a knot in knots till
 
knotted thirty times —so
the bound twig that’s under—
gone and over—gone, can’t stir.
 
The weak overcomes its
menace, the strong over—
comes itself. What is there
 
like fortitude! What sap
went through that little thread
to make the cherry red!
Other works by Marianne Moore...



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