i am growing lettuce from a packet of seeds,
two pots of italian basil, and potatoes
from the pantry, which shot up like weeds.
i bought two bundles of rosemary
at the farmers market for a dollar, where i fix your collar & you smile at me
and two tomato plants for three-
and though i dont have that green thumbed knack
i want to grow you tomatoes because
i cant quite say i love you back and have the words not feel like they lack
something vital, so this is my alternate recital.
the fruit from the vine, heavy in mind
this is the flesh of the land i tended,
of the roots i've mended.
the rosemary i chop for fresh bread
the smell of which hasn't yet fled
the house, and our stomachs ache to be fed while the potatoes have been boiling
in broth roiling for hours.
i've chopped the tomatoes and harvested the lettuce
i've washed and dried them both so now let us eat this bread and stew and
the salad that i've made with all my attention, and did i mention
that all of this
is for you.