Romaine
Dec 31 2014
The leaves of lettuce
are tightly nested,
having grown together
like yin and yang.
A perfect match
each overlapping the next.
The intricate net
of bloodless vessels
branch-for-branch.
The frilly edge
one must tease apart
or tear.
And flecks of dirt
pressed vice-like in-between,
trapped for the life of the plant.
The head of lettuce unfolds
lead-by-leaf,
the inner, revealed
as the outer is peeled back.
Like a clenched fist, opened slowly,
pried apart, finger-by-finger
joint-by-joint.
It ranges in shade
from pale stem
to dark green ends,
coarse, to delicate
the further in.
Down to its shrivelled heart,
drained of colour
sun-starved.
Like a man, white as a ghost
heart-stopped.
Or a man, newly exposed,
with translucent skin, and rickety bones
who has lived for months in the dark,
squinching his eyes
in the painful light.
What good is a leaf
without its chlorophyll?
Or a man
afraid of life?
The leaves of lettuce
are tightly nested,
having grown together
like yin and yang.
A perfect match
each overlapping the next.
The intricate net
of bloodless vessels
branch-for-branch.
The frilly edge
one must tease apart
or tear.
And flecks of dirt
pressed vice-like in-between,
trapped for the life of the plant.
The head of lettuce unfolds
lead-by-leaf,
the inner, revealed
as the outer is peeled back.
Like a clenched fist, opened slowly,
pried apart, finger-by-finger
joint-by-joint.
It ranges in shade
from pale stem
to dark green ends,
coarse, to delicate
the further in.
Down to its shrivelled heart,
drained of colour
sun-starved.
Like a man, white as a ghost
heart-stopped.
Or a man, newly exposed,
with translucent skin, and rickety bones
who has lived for months in the dark,
squinching his eyes
in the painful light.
What good is a leaf
without its chlorophyll?
Or a man
afraid of life?
I'm disappointed with the title. I like to use titles like a carnival barker's
spiel: to entice the reader in. But sometimes, the title has to do some work as
well. Because while there are many types of lettuce, I had romaine in mind, and
-- to make the poem work -- needed to establish that image from the get-go.
I hope the foreshadowing (the clenched fist ...the trapped dirt, tearing, bloodlessness ...the shrivelled heart) well as the metaphor (fist and head and heart) are neither too subtle (as I write this, I'm thinking hardly that!) nor too heavy-handed. When I started I had no idea (as usual!) where this poem would go. So it was kind of constructed back to front (again, not unusual!) It's easy to get far too clever with this.
My favourite part is "yin and yang". It will surprise me if many readers agree. But I had a helluva time getting the opening to work (usually, it's endings that are hardest), and so was very pleased with this neat and expressive solution.
As you can see by the date, writing this poem was part of my celebration of New Years Eve, 2014. Considering the alternative -- stumbling drunk and reckless kissing and an over-heated hall/restaurant/bar full of too many people trying too hard to have a good time -- I'd say it was a successful evening, no matter how the poem turns out. ...Spoken like a true introvert, who prefers solitude to crowds, and would make up just about any excuse to get out of the party!
Which is really a recapitulation of the poem, isn't it? And I admit, even though my writing is not autobiographical (or at least not consciously so), I often feel I don't grasp onto life hard enough, and will have many regrets when I reach my end. The idea of leading "a consequential life" has been coming to mind these days, and seems to capture this disappointment as well as anything. ...On the other hand, that pale shrivelled heart of romaine is often the sweetest part!
I hope the foreshadowing (the clenched fist ...the trapped dirt, tearing, bloodlessness ...the shrivelled heart) well as the metaphor (fist and head and heart) are neither too subtle (as I write this, I'm thinking hardly that!) nor too heavy-handed. When I started I had no idea (as usual!) where this poem would go. So it was kind of constructed back to front (again, not unusual!) It's easy to get far too clever with this.
My favourite part is "yin and yang". It will surprise me if many readers agree. But I had a helluva time getting the opening to work (usually, it's endings that are hardest), and so was very pleased with this neat and expressive solution.
As you can see by the date, writing this poem was part of my celebration of New Years Eve, 2014. Considering the alternative -- stumbling drunk and reckless kissing and an over-heated hall/restaurant/bar full of too many people trying too hard to have a good time -- I'd say it was a successful evening, no matter how the poem turns out. ...Spoken like a true introvert, who prefers solitude to crowds, and would make up just about any excuse to get out of the party!
Which is really a recapitulation of the poem, isn't it? And I admit, even though my writing is not autobiographical (or at least not consciously so), I often feel I don't grasp onto life hard enough, and will have many regrets when I reach my end. The idea of leading "a consequential life" has been coming to mind these days, and seems to capture this disappointment as well as anything. ...On the other hand, that pale shrivelled heart of romaine is often the sweetest part!
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