Hunkered down, beside the garden,
On a patch of winter-froze weed,
I stare down this tenacious
Brussel sprout plant
each intimate crevice -
of bud and leaf -
of browns and greens.
The lone, last brussel sprout plant
Stands proud and shivers
In the wind.
As I pull off one glove, I count the buds.
Thirteen - enough for a bowl
Thirteen - hot, braised with bacon and butter
Thirteen - it's an easy choice.
Wait.
Wait and watch till life is forced from this plant.
Exploded nectar, weeps from cells
Back, deep down, under the dirt
Finding pools in deep root.
Green juice packed into the late bud...
Frosted cells turgid with flavor
Prepared for my pleasure
By nature.
I lose myself to time past when
Strong, brown hands cupped tiny shoulders.
Warm breath in my ear
"Eat"
Careful use of a grownup fork -
Heart pounding with
Gleeful escape from the plastic spoon
With a pink dolphin on the handle.
Shiver like the last brussel sprout plant
As the first blush of pungent green sprout
...cloaked with new butter...
Drifts across young tongue's delight.
Bacon makes me laugh.
Naomi
YOU ARE READING
Farm Daze
HumorFarm'n isn't for everybody, but I'm lucky enough to be born into it, and I have a sneak'n suspicion that folks'd be a lot happier if all of us could play in the dirt with God. So this collection will be bout dirt and the stuff that happens cause of...
