Misidentification
In this version of me,
I’ve planted and tend a garden
in neat rows clear of weeds.
Leaning into a tomato plant,
I pluck a cherry one and pop it,
sun-warm, into my mouth.
My hand smells aromatic, green.
In this version,
my daughter isn’t telling me
that while she was outside
she watered my tomatoes–
the ones the actual me
keeps saying she wants to plant
even though it’s nearly July.
But, my daughter must see
the whole of me.
She conjures my daydream
from my 5-gallon buckets
of cucumber and squash vines,
waters my wishes with her surety.
6 thoughts on "Misidentification"
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I love the hoesty in this poem and the redemption at its close.
Thank you, Nancy.
I like how you give us another version of you – seems appropriate that you put it on the other side of the page. Poem is delicious as a ripe cherry tomato! Last lines are fire!
Thank you, Sylvia.
A clever conceit, and a great idea for a poem! I like:” waters my wishes with her surety.”
Thank you, Greg.