Read Poem: DILL, by Lee Marcus

I ate you in chickpea

salad and over salmon

previously frozen and

transported to Stop &

Shop weeks earlier in a

white van. I dropped a few of

your sprigs in eggs one

sour morning before dawn.

I was rarely grateful, or at

least not conscious of

my gratitude; yet I did

enjoy the herby vivaciousness

you provided, because it

filled me with fleeting pleasure.

I even found cashews flavored

like you at Aldi’s, and I enjoyed

them somewhat, because they

were buried with piles

of salt and reeked of pickles.

They were not the same as

you. But one day you turned a

deep shade of beige, reminding

me of foods that might appeal

to young children who care not

for anything but themselves

and the prepackaged processed

foods that come in plastic pouches

inside of recyclable boxes that

are often yellow or red. And

you destroyed my appetite.

You sprouted into a chicken

nugget fermenting on the counter.

I could no longer look upon you

favorably. But then the strangest

thing occurred. Even you could

not believe it. You

found a second life, in your bile-

colored empirical state.

Pollinator after pollinator deemed

you the most appetizing treat

in a menu of garden goodies.

Hummingbirds, bees, flies,

butterflies and others arrived to

drink, seduced by your ugly

browned stem: bruised

from overexposure to sunshine,

it appeared almost burnt, really,

and your flowers were

the color of a lemon left

for months in the

back of a refrigerator

drawer. And I watched

for a while until the end

of gardening season, when,

in a jealous rage, I tore

you from your home

and threw you, roots and all,

into the driveway, where

I watched, for weeks, as

you shriveled and died.

and it left me quite dissatisfied,

grim and hopeless,

morning and night.

I drove over you with my

car, again and again, until

you became one with asphalt.