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Held It                                            Ash Canyon Review, 2006

I unearthed a stone brown and plump as a potato,

small scars where sprouts broke off.

As I sat in my Adirondack chair,

stone limp in my lap,

back sore from weeds

pulled earlier,

I couldn’t help but marvel

births the earth readily surrenders.

This small potato

I’ll later plant as seed for myself

so that when night falls

and the corn and chowder clouds

split open to feed the land,

my stone round and cold

as a freshly forked potato

nestled between sleep and waking,

will drink, give thanks, know itself fortunate.