Last night my husband blanched sugar snap peas,
then tossed them with onion. Tonight he’ll grill
asparagus. Some nights he cuts up broccoli,
brushes it with olive oil and roasts it until
the edges are black and crisp. Before he made
Brussels sprouts with pignoli nuts, I called
them tasteless cabbages. Now I wouldn’t trade
them for a pizza. I never thought I’d fall
for this, but today I find myself in the farmers’
market, checking for unwilted spinach, tight edges
on kale, bright zucchini. I’ve learned that charm
is a good knife in a kind man’s hand. I pledge
allegiance to all that’s green, to a home with a stove
that can boil and simmer. I dare to call it love.

Susan Rothbard


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