We should have left the carrots
in the ground until first frost.
We planted too close together.
We could have thinned them out
but we didn’t. We’re new at playing carrot
architect. One of the seeds dropped
in the weed patch, discovered when we picked
the festering mass, a red heirloom carrot
the size of a sugar pie pumpkin. The seeds
who stayed in the garden grew curls
wrapped around each other, choking
each other out. We left the tops on
stored them in buckets inside the little
concrete box under the kitchen steps.
They stayed dark and fresh all month.
I can’t help imagining them in their dark
box, bodies twisted together, an embrace
only the kitchen knife could sever,
as if they knew we would eat them.
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