Eat Me

All the kind people at the Farmer’s Market
want the best for me. They want
hearty breads, stuffed with fiber; eggs
laid by radiant chickens; they want beets
rotund in the knowledge that the earth was good
from whence they came: a willing sacrifice,
to my hopes that, some seventy years from now,
such goodness could be mine.

I wonder, then:
could it be that, after seventy years of beets,
I too will be happy to be plucked from this soil,
glad of the earth from which I came, the stores
built up from all of the loam on which I fed?

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Originally published at retracery.wordpress.com on April 28, 2015.