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| Flickr Creative Commons photo by Janerc |
RHUBARB
Such a waste.
Leaves the size of elephant ears
discarded.
All that plant energy
composted.
And what's saved?
The tart stringy stem.
When chewed raw,
sour enough to make a knot
where jaw
meets ear.
Stewed for hours
with shocking amounts of sugar,
served with ice cream.
Savor the flavor
of spring.
© Mary Lee Hahn, 2012
Poem #21, National Poetry Month, 2012
Cathy, at Merely Day By Day, is joining me in a poem a day this month. Other daily poem writers include Amy at The Poem Farm, Linda at TeacherDance, Donna at Mainely Write, Laura at Writing the World for Kids (daily haiku), Liz at Liz in Ink (daily haiku), Sara at Read Write Believe (daily haiku), Jone at Deo Writer (daily haiku)...and YOU?
I watch the rhubarb grow every year. It's a part of what makes me, me. I tend to the smaller shoots passed down from generation to generation. And I also equally water and surround with compost the new hybrids. The people I have loved and some of the people I love still love rhubarb and rhubarb pie. What else matters!
ReplyDeleteI can't be too positive for this one, Mary Lee, because I can't see the redeeming quality of this rhubarb stuff. I do not like rhubarb & constantly wonder why so many others do. I like your beginning, wonderful to see the 'downside' of rhubarb, those big leaves, etc. Thanks for all, Mary Lee.
ReplyDeleteThat beautiful photo pulled me in, and then your surprising opening grabbed me. What an unexpected way to look at rhubarb! Makes me wish I had some to stew for hours with shocking amounts of sugar...
ReplyDeleteLove rhubarb! My favorite pie used to be rhubarb & strawberry. Used to be since I don't have either in my garden and haven't had that pie for years... I ought to do something about that! I love your photo and your poem here. Good job with the poem a day!
ReplyDeleteTHIS is how I like to learn about plants. I'm a horrible gardener, but so curious about how it's done well. I had no idea rhubarb was blessed with large ears of leaves. I only know its tartness in pies, and since my mom thought too much sugar was a bad thing, the pie of hers I sampled was not dessert in my book. I made the error of saying so... Oh, I still remember me and that piece of pie sitting at the table staring at each other long after everyone else got to leave. Maybe one day someone will make me a sassy rhubarb cocktail and the damage will be undone.
ReplyDeleteTotally love rhubarb-let's trade this summer during summer PD!! I've always wanted to grow it and haven't yet-this poem makes me want to start some in our garden.
ReplyDeleteYour poem brought back memories. When I was a kid, I loved to dip raw rhubarb in sugar and chew on it...till my jaws got tired. My mother has always loved strawberry rhubarb pie.
ReplyDelete