I am a retired lawyer who has practiced in areas as diverse as publishing, special education and immigration law. I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager and have participated in numerous poetry workshops. Although my home is in Manhattan, I spend a considerable amount of time in Vermont, and my poetry reflects those disparate places — as it reflects my large family, including children and grandchildren.
Vermont farmer’s markets
brim with red-cheeked tomatoes
lined up like saucy tarts waiting to strut,
plump cherries dancing on stems,
cheeky garlic redolent with flavor.
Bundles of kale and chard announce,
I’m healthy. I choose them without
recipe in mind, happy to be part of
Someone jigs to a banjo tune while
I shop bursting red strawberries and
organic eggs from free-range chickens.
My hands are full, my pockets empty.
Four tomatoes. Ten dollars?
Just cherries. Five dollars?
Kale and chard? Twelve dollars?
I juggle freshly-made levain, topped with
sesame seeds, and chevre from some
local goat. Twenty dollars?
Sticker prices startle at big farma.
I miss the days when local was cheap.
Take the corn at a roadside stand,
leave the coins.
On your honor.
©2016 Marilyn Mazur
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