grateful harvest 2021 almost black soil leaves wilted yellow I tug the plant’s trunk it holds on then lets go expose many tubers from marble to palmful dig hands into the bounty they hide here and there shake loose the soil inhale scent of humus think of my people seven generations gone suffering famine in the isles I praise each potato thirty-nine pounds! thankful for plenty coming fall and winter
A potato poem! 👏🏻 👏🏻
yes, but not nearly as fascinating as Tamarah's, and mine has no metaphor!
I loved having potatoes in my garden ! And I love your potato poem ✨
Thank you, Francesca!