Contributor: Deborah Guzzi

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I leave the eggplants on the vine this year, unpicked, forlorn. They hang bloated on blackened stalks, the ugliness dusted gratefully with snow.

ice melt
rattles down the drain pipe –
a sparrow sips

Parsley and mustard greens battle daily for life, peeking, bright green from the sleet-sheet covering their bed. Stalwart sage vies for vertical dominance, remaining the refuge of dirty white. Spring cannot come soon enough.

quarter-sized flakes
drift on a chill northern breeze –
chimney smoke


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