the madison review
A Poem About Cauliflower Katherine Gaffney I think I would get bored if it was about lemons or limes or cartoon mosquitos. The house is an ocean in which the rains fall and I’m reminded of the sound of Florida toads when it pours, talking to each other and maybe to us, unknowing all we hear is the throaty rattle of a smoking baritone. There’s a sad quality to a voice on the phone. Wired and tied down to tell you they love you or to ask for your recipe for Brussels sprouts. We need you. Like a child folding a paper airplane needs to believe that planes don’t only fall and that cauliflowers are flowers and the ocean doesn’t swallow the good and that everyone makes it to an age where they can eat vegetables without cheese and kiss with their tongue.
46