and there you are with all your slop.

the biggest surprises happen by design.
plans, proposals, drafts, blueprints:
so much wishing, such a ginning up
of enthusiasm in an effort to overwhelm
the cynical chatter of soul and zeitgeist.
no one really expects best-laid plans
to bear much of anything. not anymore.
modern society expects each one of us
to fail, a melancholy streak that loves a bit
of predicted disappointment, gloom and doom.
that’s what it was like for you, wasn’t it?
but then gourds quietly emerged in the desert,
and in the barren land back-breaking work
took root: orchards freighted with blossoms,
scent, and crawling bees, furrowed earth
misted with greens: silver at first, then
grassy and wild, finally dark and gently folding,
glossy in the sun, seeming aged and wise.
the timeline of the land turning from innocence
towards a more mature virility, slowly confident.
all at once despite all doubt and dryness
a slick executive chef fell in love with the herbs,
another with your preserves and yet another
with the tomatoes. invitations to compete
trickled in, followed by ribbons and a fuss
most of us would rather have avoided altogether.
press, lauds, and cooking magazine interviews
and there you are with all your slop,
oddly ill at ease with the attention,
awkward and stiff in the limelight.
to hear you talk nine months ago,
this would be the last hurrah. take off
your old pessimism. take a breath. take off
your shoes and walk about. surprise, surprise.

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4 thoughts on “and there you are with all your slop.

  1. my! well, what do i say? *blush, blush* thanks.

    AND you planted the seed (so to speak), so you can take a little ownership here. šŸ™‚

  2. i just re-read this. ever have that feeling of, “who wrote this? surely not me!”

    that’s the feeling i have. it’s going to be one of those weeks i review the whole blog and remember who i’ve been at different points along the way.

    like a journal. or a time-traveling mirror.

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