readying crudities by Pearl Pirie

under flared cone of porch lamp and the aluminum bowl, water 
and the white knuckles of cauliflower. they and tomatoes
sit duel-bodied as greedy prayers over the rushed heart. 
thru nostril-flared hosannas, bitterness grows a rose garden
of stars. they had turned, bruised, aimoforo angeío
as if they were angels fighting each other for sun 
then lie exhausted in the shade.

a toast to woman and to food, to the silt éclectique 
and to the kókkalo of the hammer in our ears. 
it’s all the leisure and no weeding when you grow anger
that overgrows all. only comets pass, hotter than anyone's guess
without leaving a dent on the harvest table. they too return.
there’s a pattern if you make all the observations.

This poem was featured in Issue 07 of Canthius.

---

Pearl Pirie’s 4th poetry collection, footlights (Radiant Press, 2020) is “lyric grief-work, and joy-work, loss, resilience and finding small beauties.” Her newest chapbook is Not Quite Dawn (Éditions des petits nuages, March, 2020). Her epistle haibun chapbook, Water loves its bridges: comes in Dec 2020 from The Alfred Gustav Press by subscription.