Why does the cabbage
provoke such hatred,
unlike the sugar cookies
in their red lace box?

Why does the lover know
the way of the garden so well,
yet stampede off the path
and into the daisies?

It's the same as why
you must contend with the
aftermath of your family,
and become the spy
amongst the shrubs.

It's the same as why
we must speak to our
uncles like cherub angels
who know nothing of
their places in the cosmos,

and bite into our
strawberries to
find nature's
emerald right
there in front
of everyone
to witness,
glowing with
answer and resolve.

It will always
be just a strawberry
      to them.