Something in me rails against the word inevitable,
wants to root for underdogs and impossibilities.
But everything and everyone lets us down sometime,
and we meet the inevitability we would rather not know.
Last week, it was the potatoes. When we went
to harvest them, we found them abundant
in the sandy earth, but with their red skins pocked
with black scabs. That’s where the sorrow comes in.
Later I learn Black Scab is the common name
for the pathogen. There’s something almost comforting
in calling things as they are. I learn
that when peeling the potatoes, if I peel deep enough,
eventually the dark spots disappear.
And the potatoes taste delicious, somehow
more potato than the potatoes in the store.
The sorrow was just a surface thing, not like
the letter I received today outlining the betrayals
of a friend. How I longed for it to be a surface thing then—
something I could peel and find the core still good,
still full of nourishment, still unmarred.
How impossible it felt to call things as they are.
I longed for the potatoes to be like auguries,
omens that everything would be okay,
I wanted them to be portents that when we dig
there is treasure to be found, though
it may not look anything like we thought.
Love this one. Or should I say, I dig it! 🙂 Title is perfect, captures the tone and play-fullness together so nicely. And that shuffling from problem to solution, then to the real buried issue, wonderful! Happy t-day.
Ditto, what anon said.
It doesn’t escape me, what with our on-going conversations re: the wisdom born by darkness, that potatoes are one of the nightshades.
“…we meet the inevitability we would rather not know.” Aye, this line! It’s not letting me go.
Great connection! I had not thought of it.
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Thursday, November 24, 2016 at 7:12 PM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “The Inevitable Sorrow of Potatoes”
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