My Children’s Radishes

Olivia Mohr

 

You taste clean

like fresh laundry,

and sharp sunshine.

You are watery and fresh,

like a swift-moving stream.

 

You are a vibrant magenta skin

with  pure-white inner flesh,

a stark contrast.

Your stems are bright green and leafy.

I made you smooth and round

with tiny hairs on your tail.

 

You are the weight of an American quarter.

You came from China and traveled so far.

Greece turned you to gold,

Ancient Egypt revered you,

Now you are everywhere.

You dwell in my ground

and in my children’s refrigerators.

I made you hardy

for them,

to nourish their bodies,

 

to wake you from your slumber

in the dirt

during cold seasons,

to purge you from the earth.

 

They keep you cold

like the season

you came in.

 

You are dirty

so they wash you clean

from the earth.