Farming a Poem

Small Feast

A poem is like a potato.

If you dig in the right place,
you find food from the soil.

And it’s not your toil
that placed it there––

it’s the harvest of
your imperfection.

Don’t put it in the larder
to save for another
time, to look for better.
Give it to us whole, baked.
Say grace. Then part the skin
so the steam brings us
face to face.

~ LCMH