Monday, June 16, 2008

An Ode to the Fiddlehead Fern

Oh fiddle head with your head bent down
like midnight flower waiting to bloom
a barnacle's feather
a forager's green bean
the guard's tight bundled curved staff at the garden gate
we cannot pass
until blanched
sauteed or pickled
the entrance to the fiddle head's edible secret
is hushed by rarity

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