124/365

If the Moon Wrote an Ode to Carrots…

 

We tried eating carrots in salad,
moon. We tried eating carrots
plain. We peeled, chilled, serrated,
chopped, steamed, sliced, pureed–
We fed them to horses
with hay.

We tried dipping carrots
in traditional ranch. As recipes
dictate, we grate, pickle, roast,
blanch.

We mixed them with
peas. Serve them blackened
with beans. Julienne them at hostels
in France.

But whenever we bite them,
we just can’t seem
to like them.

So we may not
eat carrots.

Again.

124/365

90/365

What I Love Best About Sundays


Is the perfectly, perfectly
perfectly round,
round, smooth skin, tight
sweet cool
I can roll

on my tongue just to roll,
roll, bite, chew into
pieces of heaven.



Is when you say
One end, stem,
five-tip star
at the other–
Not round.




Is when I say
That may be.

But what
I love best
about Sundays…

are the blueberry, blueberry,
blueberry
kisses

from you.





90/365