What poetry do we say sounds like the truth or life?
How many paint a proper picture of things before us on an internal canvas?
But how many things bring out the poetry all on their own?
In this way, a proper tomato sandwich contains much more than juice, seeds, skin, and pulp-
It contains the thanks of a season's worth of work, wrapped up in a translucent layer, tough enough to veer a dull knife into finger, but thin enough to steer a sharp blade into herbaceous flesh,
Deep enough to pile high on a plateau of simple starch, waiting for the juice of a life grown outside rather than mixed in a sterile kitchen.
This fruit emerges from a jealous ground who would stockpile these gems away from the mineral salt and the crushed spice that brings meaning from the ground
Is this why the tomato harvested from another's nearby garden tastes all the sweeter than that plucked by an anonymous picker miles away from the pleasure it provides?
The summer provides the climate to agitate one so deeply that they burrow into the soil to find the refreshment that would quiet the tongue of hunger and bring resolution to a disquieted mind, so far removed from comfort.