The Potato and I

On the plate,

one potato.

I carry it from room to room.

I try to walk stately,

honoring a fine Welsh potato,

this goodness of earth

nourished in its soil.

Beneath the ancient, embellished vault

where Masses once were held,

the potato’s glory goes unseen.

It’s saved millions from starving.

In China named “foreign taro”

and “yam egg”.

Sunlight pours from the heavens.

On this coarse, pocked face,

sprinkle salt.