AGNI Online
  Subscribe      Donate    Stay Connected    Submit      About Us  


by Janet Kiplinger

I’m irritated.
I butcher a radish,
cut my finger.
Wanting blood,
I get mine.
Take the trowel—
go outside.
By their tops
you can count the potatoes
from here.
The harvest may be fair.
When you come to me at night
I snore—
                    drive you
                    to the other room.
I shove my blunt trowel
down in the ground,
                    root up a potato.
I hear a worm
taking hold.


Janet Kiplinger tells us that she is currently a graduate student at San Francisco State. (Spring 1975)

End of Article
AGNI Magazine :: published at Boston University ©2008 AGNI