POETRY

By Michael Rogner

I have basil bursting
bodies emerging
garlic sig­nal­ing the under­ground life has life left
tomato vines straining
while the asshole jays poke holes in every fruit
we all want the toma­toes inside us
we harvest seeds in barrels
feed them to clouds left handed
give birth to acres of tomatoes
worlds of tomatoes
weigh them in our palms
admire their skin tones
their pliant flesh
mash them on our faces in the swel­ter­ing summer
squeeze juice over our foreheads
stomp the split ones for pulp
fill pockets with tiny gold tears
walk into our brave new tomato world
find cool grass to lay down
let them grow us over
let our bodies be buried in the blind spicy vines
ten feet under
in the dark we call to one another
whis­pered owl hoots to signal we’re not alone
to know the moon is out there somewhere
and the mice are on their knees
and the tomato haters
the skin­head fruit deniers
the anony­mous night­shade insurgency
with their little angry hand signals
and their mis­spelled screeds
detail­ing the newest plan
to burn every­thing burn us all
emerge from bunkers
peak through venet­ian blinds
onto a verdant and fright­en­ing world
and wonder where the hell we all went

Photo by Davor Denkovsky

This story orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 19. Support local book­sellers and inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ers by order­ing a print copy of the mag­a­zine.