Figured Dark: Poems

Were We Speaking, Had You Asked

Were We Speaking, Had You Asked I’d bring you cauliflower and the leaf tips of artichokes. Or tiny radishes and wild fennel, the violet ribs of chard, shorn of all flesh; sliced gingerroot, the woody hearts of parsnips––acidic, astringent. You might try the leeks: one end spring green, the other–– forged in mud–– resplendent, bone white. You might cut through the pulp of these purple beets, splay them across wilted spinach, swirl them with turnips, pungent mustard greens, weedy amaranth or rapini, slightly past its prime, sauté them all with olive oil and chopped garlic. Are they bitter? That is something best known at the root of the tongue, where muscle and blood run thick, where the nerve ends fire, fire, fire at whatever starts to gag, snapping shut the voice box and binding the heart to silence. 78 ...