Tomato Flesh

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Abstract

comfort.The back porch is ripe green with pregnant tomato buds tall-tipping in the freckled-soil.I treat our seeded-wee-ones as I once did our daughter in the NICU.Are they safe? Are they nourished? Can they even grow?Because the doctors insisted on blaming me. Shaming me. My health. My diagnoses. They couldn’t see the me in me. The

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light barely flickering.Almost twenty years gone now and I barely grow… a thing.Our back porch is bursting with tomatoes this humid June. I sit beside them (take a deep breath) while pondering the summer view.I admire their constitution — touch their tender fruit-flesh embryonic in their sylphlike protective properties.I do.</article></body>

A poem

I rise from a nap in a migraine-induced haze dimming lights careful of my body grateful for my cats’ quiet comfort.

The back porch is ripe green with pregnant tomato buds tall-tipping in the freckled-soil.

I treat our seeded-wee-ones as I once did our daughter in the NICU.

Are they safe? Are they nourished? Can they even grow?

Because the doctors insisted on blaming me. Shaming me. My health. My diagnoses. They couldn’t see the me in me. The light barely flickering.

Almost twenty years gone now and I barely grow… a thing.

Our back porch is bursting with tomatoes this humid June. I sit beside them (take a deep breath) while pondering the summer view.

I admire their constitution — touch their tender fruit-flesh embryonic in their sylphlike protective properties.

I do.

POETRY | NATURE

Tomato Flesh

A poem