Sigh

Sigh

Double rondeau

I

She belongs with fruit, yet lies among sprouts.
Her waterworks cannot be stopped;
From the crisper drawer comes sobbing sighs—
Lament and weeping fill the air.

It is the tomato, weeping copious tears,
Pausing now and then to blow her nose.
She can only whistle toward the fruit drawer,
And cannot cough her way out of grief.
She belongs with fruit.

Enough of drivel and misty spray!
How shall she voice resentment and distress,
Wounded in her state as banished fruit,
Exiled to this pauper’s hut—
For she is no vegetable. Amen.
She belongs with fruit.

II

I belong with fruit. I cannot stand vegetables.
What am I doing sighing in this drawer,
Surrounded by tubers, lettuces, herbs—
With their coarse manners and earthy scent?

I must endure their scorn,
The butt of mockery and rustic jokes.
I would leave, but cannot flee.
Yet something must be said.

I belong with fruit.

Enough of all these rumors!
I am no vegetable—I belong with fruits!
I do not lie well here, and so
I reach again the same conclusion:
I belong in the orchard’s thicket of delights.
I belong with fruit.

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