<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Picturing Celeriac<\/strong><\/p>\n Homer, as journeyman, knew to unearth it, *<\/p>\n This creature, pale white, legs folded *<\/p>\n It is a white oak roof boss on the ribs *<\/p>\n It fell in with evil and crossed a continent. *<\/p>\n It came to me bruised, shorn and filthy. Tenderly *<\/p>\n Melt the butter over medium heat, add roughly chopped *<\/p>\n The Mediterranean basin churns to war. People step *<\/p>\n The seasons move and quicken, in the sweep of elliptic force. *<\/p>\n like bobbing heads in the phosphorescent sea *<\/p>\n Send this bulb on its way with a fierce throw; *<\/p>\n The human hands that touched this root *<\/p>\n Break bread with me. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nhow the sun\u2019s scarce fingers pulsed the soil
\nfor its life.<\/p>\n
\nunderneath it, delivered dirty
\nin a box.<\/p>\n
\nof the church vault depicting children in the mouth
\nof a dragon.<\/p>\n
\nIt gave every kind of promise and favour
\nto be here.<\/p>\n
\nI washed it, I pared it down to
\nshow its hollows.<\/p>\n
\nceleriac, leeks, potato, onion and garlic; sweat then
\nboil until soft<\/p>\n
\nover its wild roots; run or be targeted, kidnapped,
\ntortured or killed.<\/p>\n
\nThe machine comes to dig, to harvest them, they spin
\nlike severed heads;<\/p>\n
\nthat cry
\nto make land and safety.<\/p>\n
\nfrom the Helicon river to a new crater
\non the moon.<\/p>\n
\nare all connected, each of them laced
\nwith its bacteria.<\/p>\n
\nEat with me;
\nthis precious food.<\/p>\n