Pipi's don't grow pearls
I know that
They're a poor man's feast
My heart feels for them
I'm ocean-wading with empty pockets
Digging my toes this way and that
Evicting little plump sea drifters
My hands welcome them
Colonizing my woven flax kete
Soon to be lovingly prepared
Into delicious crispy fritters
Fine dining for my Urban King
(cont.) I also think the 2023 page lists poverty and wealth as 'Topics' and the 2017 page does not. Am I wrong? ? ? Hey, I'm Bri Edwards. I'm never 'wrong'. Right?
AND THE POEM was dated 2017 on one page and 2023 on another page. I THINK Simone must have resubmitted the 2017 poem. (cont.)
This is strange: I 'swear' this poem is the same one I saw some minutes ago on PH, but on the other page there was a Poet's Notes saying that a 'pipi' is a clam endemic to Australia. ? ? HMM?
KETE: 'New Zealand a basket woven from flax' So, Simone was harvesting clams for a meal for her man (and hopefully herself as well) . : )
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gathering pipis, ocean-wading with empty pockets, the poet evicts sea drifters, welcoming them into a woven flax kete. The anticipation of preparing crispy fritters for a tribal king adds a touch of joy to this brief and vivid snapshot.