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Eye a Marooned Vegetable

Updated on January 7, 2013

I imagine waking up one

morning in the fields of blue grass

and white cushion. I walk to you,

tell you secrets of the earth risen

from crust. I was once a small

child like you, grew in the plot

amongst cornfields and grape vines

where my dates were my neighbors

green as coconut shells, removed

as jujube brown and placed

in your cup, half eaten, half

consumed. I walk to you.


Can you not see my limbs move?

the hard ridges of outer saw

dust on the speckle stars of my skin?


I was born here, grew here, then

cut down here as the sun set until

the ninth hour. But if you listen

closely, if you embrace a certain

vegetable and open your mind,

you can see me touch your hand

you can feel my breath on your skin

you can hear my kiss enwrap

the tip of your tongue as you drink

me in and I fall farther down

your gullet to settle like leaven.

I am dead. I call father why

have you forsaken me,

I lived just as you did.


But through the word of

mouth and exchange of this

gospel pen held between my lips,

this instrument to connect with,

which sing melodies and harp

tunes, I live in you my dear readers. I walk

the gulags where I lost half

my life, but I live, beloved brethren.

And I ask you, once again,


Can you see my arms and

legs move?

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    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 4 years ago from Riga, Latvia

      Interesting and creative. Great pics.

    • jhamann profile image

      Jamie Lee Hamann 4 years ago from Reno NV

      I love your where you chose to break your lines, and the duality of meaning. Very well executed. Jamie