Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Susan B. Auld: "Radishes"

Pull up some radishes for dinner,
my mother said.
They grow next to the house under your bedroom window.

Afraid I’d pull up something other than a radish
I gathered a sister, a brother
and we knelt in the dirt
under the screened window


at what we thought
to be a radish.

Its leaves so new   so green
our hands  so hesitant  so unsure

we reached and pulled

earth clung
to our fingers
to the fleshy roots
quivering in the sun

we pulled up radish after radish
handing them
a bouquet
to our mother.

She no longer cares for radishes.
My sister, brother and I tend our own gardens.
But I wish everyday
to kneel again
under that window

to feel new and green
hesitant and unsure.

"Radishes" by Susan B. Auld, from 2011 Poetry Challenge (editor unknown). © Highland Park Poetry, 2011.  

Art credit: "Would you like a radish?", photograph by Jenny at A Taste of Travel, part of a series entitled "The Children of Jordan's Al-Amir Village" (originally color).

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