Alina Gregorian: Kansas

“Look at the turnips,” you said.

We are miles away from the farm

that sells turnips by the bushel

and your eyebrows are growing

tired from squinting at the road.

“Look at the way you tremble

when I hold you up to the light

of the television and compare

you to a basket of folding chairs.”

This poem has been published in Food Corp and appears here courtesy of the poet.