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Take One Last Chance and Know by Caleb Gainey

Take One Last Chance and Know

I am the vibrant orange of autumn pumpkins,

the burning red of summer tomatoes.

The quiet pallor of winter parsnips.

Green in all the right places, even

in the night just as the day.

Thriving. Wild. So wild,

like the spring onions

in your grandmother’s backyard.

You cannot cull me.

I am not the chaff

so easily bending to your will.

You may pick me to bring home.

To illuminate the missing parts.

Brothers of watermelon rind

and sisters of corn husk

who once chased the call,

their answers empty,

are long gone, though remain.

Grind them to dust;

compost, reuse, fertilize

sayeth the earth.

Be it made of the world or of the flesh,

you must know the truth:

nothing will compare

to the fervor of my being,

anchoring into this dying soil,

rooting for you.

Once here I will stay, and stay, and stay.

Sometimes a weed.

Always what you need.


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