My poem “Cherokee Purples” was just published by Red Eft Review. My thanks to editor Corey Cook.

…

Cherokee Purples

There’s melancholy in picking 
the last of these heirlooms 
before first frost. The May potential 

of seedlings. Yellow blossoms,
then tiny green fruits, hard as marbles,
in July. Deep red beauties, bending stalks 

under their weight, radiant and tender 
to the touch in August and September,
harvested in threes and fours, starring 

in salads, roasted with garlic, eaten 
like apples. This small bounty—triumph 
of urban farmers who nurture, stake, 

feed, and brag about their crop 
outgrowing cages to sprawl 
across the neighbor’s fence. Oh, the pride 

in sharing one or two with friends 
who didn’t grow their own this year. 
And finally in October, the wistful goodbye 

to a generous friend whose final gifts 
grace a windowsill to ripen, seeds salvaged 
for spring planting.