Mama's Peppers
Location
I witnessed in a root
that stood in my mother’s garden
Brown burning water to mud
then dust,
Polluting veins required for breath,
for leaves hanging like clipped
butterfly wings.
Fruit plunged into pits,
to worms and beetles,
who bite the sting of sweet,
savor the green,
sun-made peppers sprung in red and yellow,
filled with more seeds than watermelon.
Abandoned not by soil,
but stiff hands too frail to pin them
on fading arms, splintered.
Rough earth shell,
shriveled like cranberries
I am addicted to
Hold,
hold,
hold on.
Green, red, yellow
stripped to hues.