We are all edible,

Some of us, only once.




Some of you belong to us.

We play sound in your eyes

And the colours run through your fingers.

When you are ordinary again, you come back in need of our magic.


Some of us belong to you.

We become good friends with penne, gravy and other soil spawn.

You take us in and we become part of you for a time.


Some of us still exist in the earth.


I grew next to one that was given a twin on a canvas.

I have sheltered insects.

My mother was dug at and devoured by a dog.




I had distant relatives who put a girl in a hallucination

So intense that she tried flying out of a tree.

Her wings didn’t work.


They served us at her wake,

Stabbed with a wooden spike,

Stuffed with spinach and sundried tomato

And pretend condolences.




by Zoe Ormiston