‘Tis the season for gorgeous summer produce and I’m envious of those of you with your own vegetable gardens. At our old house, where there were fewer trees to block the sunlight and no deer to nibble on devour everything, we had a nice little patch that yielded bell peppers, beefsteak, cherry and Early Girl tomatoes, cucumbers, and monster zucchini.
I love how each plant matured in its own time, extending our anticipation, and how it always seemed so miraculous that something delicious and satisfying could magically materialize from a tiny seed or starter plant.
No, there’s nothing like a freshly picked garden tomato at its peak of ripeness sliced just so, saying hello to three strips of bacon, a little butter lettuce and lightly toasted whole grain bread. And there’s no one who better celebrates the joy and wonder of the vegetable garden than Barbara Crooker. Her poetic garden flourishes with a variety of offerings, exquisite sensual details, and earthy enthusiasm. She always gets it just right.
by Barbara Crooker
Feel a tomato, heft its weight in your palm,
think of buttocks, breasts, this plump pulp.
And carrots, mud clinging to the root,
gold mined from the earth’s tight purse.
And asparagus, that push their heads up,
rise to meet the returning sun,
and zucchini, green torpedoes
lurking in the Sargasso depths
of their raspy stalks and scratchy leaves.
And peppers, thick walls of cool jade, a green hush.
Secret caves. Sanctuary.
And beets, the dark blood of the earth.
And all the lettuces: bibb, flame, oak leaf, butter-
crunch, black-seeded Simpson, chicory, cos.
Elizabethan ruffs, crisp verbiage.
And spinach, the dark green
of northern forests, savoyed, ruffled,
hidden folds and clefts.
And basil, sweet basil, nuzzled
by fumbling bees drunk on the sun.
And cucumbers, crisp, cool white ice
in the heart of August, month of fire.
And peas in their delicate slippers,
little green boats, a string of beads,
And sunflowers, nodding at night,
then rising to shout hallelujah! at noon.
All over the garden, the whisper of leaves
passing secrets and gossip, making assignations.
All of the vegetables bask in the sun,
languorous as lizards.
Quick, before the frost puts out
its green light, praise these vegetables,
praise what comes from the dirt.
~ from Radiance, winner of the Word Press First Book Prize, Copyright © 2005 Barbara Crooker. All rights reserved.
♥ More Barbara Crooker poems at alphabet soup here.
Copyright © 2011 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan’s alphabet soup. All rights reserved.