Image of shelter



In the vegetable drawer, unopened for months,
seethes a forgotten bag of red potatoes -- mottled,
shriveling, eerily alive with pale tentacles sprouting,

curving, tangling, reaching this way and that, some
thick and brawny, as with muscle, others thin and
long, as with desire, and all branched everywhere

with lesser sprouts. At each elbow a circle of red
the shade of blood joins together limbs grown white
in the refrigerator's chilly darkness, like a cave's

blind worms writhing, desperate, in motion too slow
to see. I can hardly stand to put their bag in the trash,
seeing what work the potatoes have put into living.

December, 2000

Poems page | The Biemiller Ice and Coal Co.