16 April 2025

A Poem I Wrote This Morning

 I woke at 0430.

Couldn't go back to sleep.

A poem crept into my mind.

The start of one, anyway.

So I got up and let it out.

Here it is.

Tomatoes in the Ground

Tomatoes in the ground

Today;

Cages all around

Today;

I saw the sign of others,

Though not the ones I bought

Not the heirloom slicer,

Nor the reddish orange Roma,

Looking more pepper than tomato;

Just some scattered cherries;

Brave little flags,

Not quite gray,

Not quite green,

But there if you know to see them,

Just above the ground.

They are there nonetheless.

Nonetheless – a word of promise,

For the flags are but a promise,

Of the distant future,

When all the others

Are long past,

Long distant,

Memories

Of something -

Something vaguely familiar;

Something of – maybe – wonder;

Something vaguely distant;

A flavor maybe:

A tarte perhaps;

A salad for sure;

A salad of thick red slices

On a bed of green romaine

Scattered with capers

Dashed with oil

Topped with white balsamic,

Pepper sometimes too.

But in that distant future

Those will all be gone

And October if she’s kind,

October if she’s gentle

She’ll leave all the volunteers

The ones I saw today

Brave little volunteers

Brave little flags of green and maybe gray

One more soup, one more salad, one more Moroccan egg concoction

Cherries work for that

When the bigger ones are gone

And then October

Or maybe it’s November

One or the other

Creeps up and freezes them all

And we wait for tomatoes

In the ground again.

Maybe again.

Maybe.


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