I used to keep
potatoes in my cellar
in brown bags. But
they grew green shoots
and wanted to be planted.
When it rained my friend
came and looked at them. They were coal painted
and their green roots were neon bulbs.
He said I should give them some ground,
a little bit of light,
and time. In time, he said
their luminous tentacles would spread
and I would have a maze of potato
under my little garden,
under the apple tree
and the rosemary bush
and the daffodils,
it would be a green yellow flood, he said
giving the worms
and the moles
their eyes, a rest, if they have eyes,
he wasn’t sure
but I liked the idea,
I could walk my
small wild
and know the ground could see.