Gardner’s Cupboard

By: Erin Davis

Stoop to the rug where ravaged beetles dream and sip the suckle of bee’s

becoming nectar, the draconian serum of opulent seams. The

avocados grin and dance in sulfuric pools of after-shower sludge, delve

wholly onward into the maggot’s mouth and await transformation. The

girl who stares at brightly lit oranges that will soon be benign to sensational

sounds and sit stately on her aviary throne, look down.

The partridge and seasoned carrot in one, cooked fresh,

away home.

Pepper and tarragon, and ask me.