2011-10-01T20:56:08-07:00October 1st, 2011|Musings on life|

The back of a broccoli truck

I once hitched a ride
up a mountain road
in the back of a broccoli truck
in North India
open to the hot wind
careening around switchbacks
as though a child was steering
a video game.

I couldn’t picture dying
it was too outlandish
all that broccoli
the sides of the truck painted
bright and gutsy
like the inside
of hope.

For days afterwards
little green florets
appeared everywhere
in my socks
the pages of my journal
my toothbrush
and every time I found one
I shuddered
not with relief
with admiration
and shock
as though I was being told
the story
about someone

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