a complicated vegetable
with a spongy heart
protected and covered
within many
perplexing layers
of greenish walls
she could be a manuscript
on a handcrafted
antique mantle
a book of words
spilling random
scraps of social discrepancies
but shrouded by tender
and unexplained sentiment
she could be a cavalcade
of haphazard deposits
not-so monochromatic
sedimentary residue
she could be both
the royal queen
and the rusty skeleton key
tucked snuggly within
a velvet-lined box
locked deep inside
the walls of a
faraway kingdom
she could quietly marvel
at the simplicity of careless wonder
and the possibility of true love
and the absurdity of the mating rituals
of colorful birds in migration
but if she could just be
an artichoke
on a simple white plate
steamed to perfection
with some melted butter on top
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