potato remembrances

They stole my birthdayspotato poem.jpg
Buried, unearthed, blind
In the ripped sod, they
Lied to everyone.
So important
The whole world stopped
To pick them up.

When the light is just so,
And a whiff of wood-
smoke is not scattered
Among the leaves about to die,
They come back to haunt me,
Raw, dirt-covered and cold.
Unforgettable.

I take a knife to shred
The plump body in front of me
With so much reverence.

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