OLIVES
It’s always the springy stir
plan, plant, hope
slipped into earth-skin’s slopey pores
(soon to be cellular mirrors)
………. glinty, green, spring flares
……….sprung from soft mossy pads
as you slice on the chopping board
This truth’s a bit musky for most
……….(like the unwashed uncle
……….invited for fettuccini champignon)
“Tsk, tsk” or “snicker-snicker” go the guests, or “ah-h” their
claims or denials
“Who planted this row?” they ask, draining
“How lovely.”
Truth in the furrows, the veins,
the answer lost
in the pasta’s kerfuffle
“How fresh.”
Chase around the gleaming glass
spear an olive in a vodka martini.
Does it have a red heart?
Soon enough the shoots will show
“How lush.”
The leafing out
The membrane is thin, contains all life
“How” says uncle “al dente.”
Author’s Bio
Steven Ross Smith, poet, performance poet, fiction and non-fiction writer has published twelve books and appeared on several performance recordings. Pliny’s Knickers, a chapbook collaboration, won the 2006 bpNichol Chapbook Award. His next book, Emanations: Fluttertongue 6 will appear from BookThug this fall. Smith has performed and/or published in Canada and abroad. He spends his writing time mostly in Banff and on Galiano Island.