Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Rush it, potatoes

pulled from their dark corner
of the house, their wild hair
drapes out of their paper houses

a small closet in the cool
basement is where they simmered
all trough the winter freeze

how they've waited for it
the taste of wet warming dirt
and feel of wriggling worms

the same creepy crawlers
who have lingered in the ice
after feasting on rotting leaves

and they would just as well
dine upon the rotten flesh
of these tubers from the dark

the wild hair is laid into
the trench, tentacles that mimic
the creepy crawling worms

tubers and worms and warmth
reunite in the earth, in the sun
and water soaks them through





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