Do you eat turnips?
I like you already.

A sort of Japanese potter,
you see their possibilities: yellow-green knifed-off cap
tops a tapered globe of purple seas and ocean scarfs
decorating beige-white expanses.

Very top or very bottom of turnip shape
will be brushed inside of cup rims
for tea drinkers to notice as they enjoy
thumb’s easy touching of neighbor finger’s end.

Visit a Chinese market, to sight a kaffeeklatsch
of turnips bordering red, yellow, and tan piled potatoes.
Slick fellows and healthy sisters, they draw you
to plop three or four into your basket.

Those of us who have lived alone for long
may have learned how to add
their gemütlich healthiness to pasta
or to fruit salad five or six times a month.

Those of us who live with another
may hope our space-sharer eats turnips readily.
(Some diners do so only perfunctorily).
Imagination seeks turnip lovers for turnip cooks.

You eat turnips.
I weigh one in my palm, and think of you.


Comments…


Image by anders pearson.