for Diana
I have forced you to eat the fruit,
you have forced me to grow it.
What a pair we are, the growers
& eaters. Yet while I gobbled art,
theater, & hopeless men, you grew son,
daughter & widowhood. I spread out
plates of green, seedless grapes,
your eyes swallow them whole.
You may yearn for purple Concord, or
Italian wine, but you eat nonetheless.
When we are old, careless,
without men, we shall sit in hammocks
& eat from our laps. Dressed in flowered
cotton & battered hats, we shall laugh,
grow fresh salad in the yard & eat.
Cats will narrow their eyes at us.
We will stare back like neutered queens,
lording it, eating earth, sky & wild romaine.