Groundhog/St. Brigid Poetry Day

Because poetry is important. I found out about this from Julie, who has a poem posted on her own blog. So really, I'm just doing my part.


ARTICHOKE
by Robin Robertson

The nubbed leaves
come away
in a tease of green, thinning
down to the membrane:
the quick, purpled,
beginnings of the male.

Then the slow hairs of the heart:
the choke that guards its trophy,
its vegetable goblet.
The meat of it lies, displayed,
up-ended, al dente,
the stub-root aching in its oil.