Gnarled, dried out roots, planted deeply in rich soil,
watered, watched for that first tip to emerge.
Purple tinged, green spears magically
push up and up.
Cut, steam and feast,
splashed with lemon, dipped in mayo, oh my.
Enough has been cut,
we leave them to grow
four feet tall giants
that turn into delicate, ethereal rows
of soft green ferns
with poisonous red berries.
It seems a shame to cut them down
but next year’s harvest depends on it.
Dying stubs of stalks
mark where gnarly roots wait
©2018 Sharron R. McMillan