As published in Plainsongs Winter 2023

Slivers of wild carrot 

fall away from the knife in rounds, 

fat coins gleaming dully in the kitchen light. 

A sweet, vegetal scent wafts from the cut flesh 

sparking thoughts of the world outside—

fecund spring soil and nascent buds unfolding 

in geometric whorls—sights I have yet to see, 

sequestered in this season of pandemic.

But for now it is enough 

to be chopping these carrots, 

inhaling the dampness of distant earth where, 

though I can't see them, I can still wonder 

at taproots snaking beneath the loam, 

cells swelling to golden spears, a lacework 

of emerald leaves unfurling overground, 

gathering sunlight for the shade-bound 

to savor with their morning meal.