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May 24, 2007
2007 Empire Asparagus Festival Poetry Contest winners
Adult category
Tom Ulrich
Spare Gus
My grandfather grew asparagus.
Not in raised beds, or rows,
But in a chaos of well-rotted manure
And a ragged forest of spears.
He called it by name, with affection.
When I was younger I thought “Spare Gus”
Was the nickname for an old friend of his
Who came around the same time every year.
As I grew, he showed me how to work the beds,
Just him and me, pulling weeds, spreading manure,
And best of all, harvesting the green spears,
His rough hands tenderly snapping each one.
The beds he planted outlasted him
By a good twenty years — my grandmother
Now harvesting the dwindling spears
And still making his favorite recipes.
Two years ago, I took a couple of asparagus crowns
Out to the cemetery and put them in a furrow
Over his grave — Mixed in a little manure,
And watered them with my tears.
Now it’s a cool May morning, and I find myself
Back at his grave. “Hey Grandpa,” I say,
As I bend down and snap off a thick green spear,
“Look who’s here.”
Youth category
Libby Benjamin
Asparagus
Cold, wet, green stalks
Bound like slaves
With a purple rubber band
Sprayed with ice water
From up above
Drowning in a grocery store cooler
Thrown carelessly in a bag
Twisted shut
The stalks are suffocating
Plunged into a pan of oil
It bubbles, spits, scalds them
Salted
Peppered
Enjoyed?
Posted by editor at May 24, 2007 12:15 AM