Knocking on Cabbages

This is a poem
about cabbages – round
brassica, orbular flowers
of the earth,
pre-sauerkraut as far
as I’m concerned.

Growing toward the sun,
they remain pale
on the inside, metaphor
for human heads reaching
for enlightenment,
rooted to our bitter minerals,
tangy litmus test.

Cabbages: there isn’t much to say
about them, at least not much
poetic. They are their own
poetry.