Published Poems

THE HOLINESS OF POTATOES                                            Seattle Review 2006

While I count my potatoes’ worth, calculate how much they’ll yield the village, they widen their space against silence. They push with the walls of their skin against the unknown, peel back their desires. Today, I grabbed a wheel- barrow to cart them inside, bent at the tub, rinsed their pretty heads, a scrub brush in hand. When I wash something else, I also cleanse myself. Who dare flaunt the fluency of growth, how a spud’s roots sink to take hold? I too have known moments inside earth where each birth was promise of something else. I slept as my potatoes sleep, mute at the breast of depth. There have been potatoes I’ve favored more than people. Because of their adherence to mystery. How it works to enhance. Even the earth-worm knows the richness of tubers cloaked in their drab burqas, how all things wrap into something for comfort.

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