what I planted this morning
was not cabbages but faith
in the future, little tag end
to I-know-not-what. In that
the exhilaration, giddy
as license to desire. I’ve
put my hand in next year,
thrown my lot in with earth’s,
harrowed, sweated, given over
and stood back. Counted. Enough
kale for us, the neighbours,
ducks. Come spring, more
yellow promises: bunched blossoms.
See where the mind goes? Between
the lovely knots, a silk always
strong enough to bear it’s weight.
That throwing’s what I love, what
I would give my life to.
Lacinato. Champion. Rougette.
Red cabbages dense and beautiful
as turbans, roses, words, like a row
of toothy kisses, sweet, unmanageable, raw.
~ from Shameless (Brick Books, 2002)
