Artichoke, ink, 11x14''
Friday night = grocery shopping + art (ichoke).
The Shucking Station at Kroger
We are participating in an ancient ritual, you and I,
Females in our late 20’s to mid-30’s
in a common task of food preparation
You with your baby slung, rather,
Seated, in the baby-carrier of your cart
(the same sill I would keep my purse on if it didn’t invite
theft)
Wearied, standing in this act of labor after our long day of
work in the field –
Both in the field of medicine,
I deduce from your blue scrubs.
Quiet, by every reason, because we are strangers
Quiet, I pretend, out of tiredness
And a shared mutual understanding
Of this work to be done to feed ourselves and others.
Caught up in this ancient art
under the fluorescent lights
with the produce trucked in from every corner of the earth
in colorful array behind you.
Any moment the sprayers cheeping their warning
and spraying their gentle mist onto the impossible harvest.
A moment of human closeness I won’t have to face even at the
checkout,
except in the event I need to call the attendant.
Soon, you will put your baby in his car seat and drive to
suburbia.
I will turn my key and head to my apartment.
Taking out our corn ears,
We will boil water
in our respective homes
in our respective pots
At a temperature that is predictably close to each others’
And to the temperature at which it boiled for
The others who have gone before us and will go after us,
Feeding themselves and others.
