Potato

[toastywarmyes]

I don't even remember falling.
But I remember standing up.
And my knees and my elbow and my wrist.

I remember when I left pieces of poetry
In the precious corners of my blankest of books.

There's nothing like handing a cold man coffee
With my hands on my hips in my mind.
There's nothing like the surprise on my cheeks
When I open the blueberry oven door
And see my stirrings rising: textures in bakery bags.

The potted plants stand still for me,
And I limp home to them, my vegetables.
With bandages on my knees like potato skins
Just waiting to come off.