The tender-hearted artichoke got dressed
as a warrior,
erect, built a little cupola, stood impermeable
under its scales,
around it the crazy vegetables bristled,
grew astonishing tendrils, cattails, bulbs,
in the subsoil
slept the carrot with its red whiskers,
the grapevine dried the runners through
which it carries the wine,
the cabbage devoted itself to trying on
skirts,
oregano to perfuming the world,
and the gentle artichoke stood there in
the garden,
dressed as a warrior, burnished like a
pomegranate,
proud,
and one day along with the others
in large willow baskets,
it traveled to the market
to realize its dream; the army.
Amid the rows never was it so military
as at the fair,
men among the vegetables with their white
shirts
were marshals of the artichokes,
the tight ranks, the voices of command,
and the detonation of a falling crate,
but then comes Maria with her basket,
picks an artichoke,
isn't afraid of it,
examines it, holds it to the light as
if it were an egg,
buys it,
mixes it up in her bag with a pair of
shoes,
with a head of cabbage and a bottle of
vinegar
until entering the kitchen she submerges
it in a pot.
Thus ends in peace the career of the armored
vegetable
which is called artichoke,
then scale by scale we undress its delight
and we eat the peaceful flesh of its green
heart. |