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These are lonely times. No sweetness lingers on the tongue from this carrot’s purple flesh. Still the violet disks I slice into the soup are pleasing. They sink like coins that have no worth except that I imagine them on the fountain’s marble bottom. I am four or five and my grandmother is showing me her white paper boats folded small, pressed flat; she lifts them from her pocket; they do not look like boats until she opens up the folds and they hold space that moves with them across the silver water; to where I am standing now in my kitchen purple carrot in my hand.
(c) 2023 Sally Bliumis-Dunn
Sally Bliumis-Dunn’s books include Echolocation (Plume/Madhat, 2018). She and her husband John share four children, Ben, Angie, Kaitlin and Fiona.
What a lovely poem.
“A multi-dimensional gem which is evocative on so many levels!”
Thanks, Jim. I agree. I find this layered song very evocative.