Sweet
corn tanka
by
Laurel Smith
1.
On
Sunday the sweet
corn
was perfect: each bite
a
confirmation
of
every summer memory
laced
with butter, salt, warm gold.
2.
By
Thursday, in spite
of
cool storage, these last three
ears
were failures: no
fireworks,
poor texture and taste,
bland
regret between our teeth.
3.
Cultivars
for “sweet”
number
over a hundred:
have
we known them all?
Zea
mays—star
of the farmers’
market,
perennial favorite.
From
Laurel Smith: “I
live in Vincennes, Indiana, and happily participate in projects to
promote literacy and the arts. My poetry has appeared in various
periodicals, including Natural Bridge, New Millennium Writings,
Tipton Poetry Review, Flying Island, English Journal, JAMA: Journal
of the AMA; also in the following anthologies: And
Know This Place,
Visiting Frost,
and Mapping the Muse.”