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Raids on the Inarticulate
Eclectic verse found only at NthZine.com
Tears in my lettuce
Their round leafy heads stare up at me,
Their leaves folded like hands in prayer,
Begging me not to pick them.
Dirt drips like blood
When its roots are ripped from the ground.
"Murderer, Murderer," cry its neighbors
Until I drop the head I severed from the earth.
Beans also grow in my garden.
Each pod contains new life,
Babies yet to be born.
Their mother vine climbs to the sun
And cries, “Don’t hurt my babies!”
My weary legs carry me into my house.
Tomorrow I will face my angry garden, again.
Sunlight streams into my kitchen.
Yellow daisy wallpaper smiles at me.
As I take homemade bread out of the refrigerator,
A tomato sits on a cutting board,
Awaiting its execution.
The tomato scream
As I cut into its juicy flesh.
Each day I grow weaker
As the voices in my garden grow louder.
"Don’t eat us! Have pity!"
Cry the vegetables.
Previously published in MindMares magazine, Spring 1999. |
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