NaPoWriMo 11

(I'm playing catch up today. Decided to sleep instead of writing past midnight.)


Potatoes

~ for John O'Neil

I see you the in the Nor’easters that pass
close enough to destroy but never do,
in the low branches hanging over the house,
and in the potatoes waiting to be washed
on the kitchen counter.
Thank you for resilience.
Russet, yellow, Yukon, new—
never has something this simple
tasted so good. It has been years
since your passing, everything has changed.
Tonight, we are grilling steaks with potatoes
on the side, with nothing but salt
from the earth, the pepper ground down to dust.
It’s a meal that makes us feel satisfied,
as if we’ve just swallowed what pains us most.
God, please no more rain.