- Clean water under attack in the U.S. Congress
- Man faces charges following attempted armed robbery
- Discovery Center experiences record public attendance
- Pet Talk: Probiotics for your pets
- Illinois home prices climb 3.7 percent in December
- Supreme Court and gay marriage — U of I expert weighs in
- More than 6,100 residents of Winnebago County enrolled in Marketplace
- First large U.S. delegation to visit Cuba since opening of relations
- Merger complete for Illinois Bank & Trust, Galena State Bank
- Crusader welcomes Dr. Maria Lozano Vazquez
Literary Hook: Hot, dry summer great for tomatoes!
By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Although it has been a terribly hot, dry summer that was hard on humans and other creatures, it has been great for tomatoes!
With all the wonderful farmers’ markets around here, it has been a treat to see all the heirloom tomatoes ripened and ready for slicing.
This poem starts out with a lofty tone, detours for the heirloom tomatoes and detours yet again by satirizing the famous plum poem by William Carlos Williams. Then, it ends with levity. Savor with salt, please.
Instead of Destiny
Destiny is the seed deep within the secret
revealed when colors and textures can be discerned
through the speckled lens of time’s wide aperture.
Of seeds, shapes, and textures:
how about those heirloom tomatoes?
Cheyenne blacks, golden pineapple,
fuzzy peach, green-striped —
the bulbous and beautiful aborigines
of the farmers’ market.
Destiny arrives in slices,
succulent, juicy glimpses
of patterned purpose,
metered messages from whatever
Mercury you tango with.
This is just to say
I have sliced the heirloom tomatoes
that you bought at the farmers’ market today.
No need to forgive me.
There’s plenty left for you.
So sweet with just a little salt.
Destiny is like a secret heirloom
that hides in plain sight
in the dark attic you climb to one winter day.
You say, Oh my. What’s this?
I have the prefect place for you.
Oh my. I set out to write a poem
all about destiny. The urgent
heirloom tomatoes slivered in instead.
This poem was published in The Alleluia Tree by Puddin’head Press as well as Minotaur, a literary magazine based in Port Townsend, Wash.
Christine Swanberg is a local author and poet.
From the Sept. 5-11, 2012, issue