Good Potatoes Bring Out Good Poets
or
The Simple Truth

I'm not much of a poetry person. I never "got" Hammond's tamal poem (scroll down). Still, I was pretty impressed when, after I mentioned on LTHForum.com that the best thing I ate recently was some of Farmer Vicki's red potatoes, I got a poem in the mail.

I bought a dollar and a half's worth of small red potatoes,
took them home, boiled them in their jackets
and ate them for dinner with a little butter and salt.
Then I walked through the dried fields
on the edge of town. In middle June the light
hung on in the dark furrows at my feet,
and in the mountain oaks overhead the birds
were gathering for the night, the jays and mockers
squawking back and forth, the finches still darting
into the dusty light. The woman who sold me
the potatoes was from Poland; she was someone
out of my childhood in a pink spangled sweater and sunglasses
praising the perfection of all her fruits and vegetables
at the road-side stand and urging me to taste
even the pale, raw sweet corn trucked all the way,
she swore, from New Jersey. "Eat, eat" she said,
"Even if you don't I'll say you did."
Some things

Finish here and thank Jason.