The Evolution of Art Creation - June 2018
Judy Cole's poem
I wonder if she always remembers
When god picks human beans
I wonder if she always remembers
To slow down and pull each one mindfully.
Or is she sometimes in a rush for supper and,
Overreaching,
Does she tug too hard or just impatiently?
I wonder if she sometimes tears a stem
Or, when she picks one much too young,
Does she wince and say ‘oh well’?
I wonder if she gives thanks for each of them
And if she pauses to remind herself
That her intention for the beans
Was that they should be food,
That they serve their purpose by being picked when ripe and
Fried with mint and garlic and a glimpse of pepper,
That they would not thank her,
Having been sown and tended and watered for so long,
If they were left to swell and wither on the stem?
I wonder if she remembers that
While she knows exactly what the beans were planted for
(to be eaten)
The beans perhaps don’t know and
Only long for rain and sun and bees
And intensive pollination.
When god picks human beans
I wonder if she always remembers
To slow down and pull each one mindfully.
Or is she sometimes in a rush for supper and,
Overreaching,
Does she tug too hard or just impatiently?
I wonder if she sometimes tears a stem
Or, when she picks one much too young,
Does she wince and say ‘oh well’?
I wonder if she gives thanks for each of them
And if she pauses to remind herself
That her intention for the beans
Was that they should be food,
That they serve their purpose by being picked when ripe and
Fried with mint and garlic and a glimpse of pepper,
That they would not thank her,
Having been sown and tended and watered for so long,
If they were left to swell and wither on the stem?
I wonder if she remembers that
While she knows exactly what the beans were planted for
(to be eaten)
The beans perhaps don’t know and
Only long for rain and sun and bees
And intensive pollination.