Header image by Engin Aykurt on Unsplash
This focus on seed spuds like a spyglass on millennium
Indigenous milagro that’s fed the tribes for eons
Feeds my rebel underground practice. Staple now of
our colonial dispersal time wave zero rebound
out of this New World. Replacing Asia Minor’s
major grip on what we eat & drink. Wheat & meat
mostly. Dairy. Malt liquors. Ours the true grit
of a ruling culture. Herders & rowcroppers gone
technolithic & spreading. La grippe Européene
But Katahdin. Nooksack. Anna Cheeka’s Ozette
All native to this place. Yukon Gold. Peruvian
Blues & my sweet fresh-dug Survival Reds
Those that keep through the winter & those
that grow beastly big. Rhizomic. More than mere
mass-produced tubers. An earthy flavor still
clinging to their skins. As we dig in, in this
the last great millennial grasp of empire’s power
Rooting in the dirt of our own decline & fall
Scab. Blight. Leaf wilt. An imperfect union gone
postal. Though a few of us plant heirloom seeds
Learn new songs. Have kids with deep eyes
white flesh & some small flower of hope
