A Basket of Favorite Thank You Notes

Each month, we slip a few poetic thank you notes to unlikely recipients: potatoes, evergreens, candles, ice. Some of those notes are simply poetic pictures. All are an invitation to take part in Tweetspeak’s way of being in the world: smart, fun, life-giving.

Looking over the past few months, here are just a few of our favorite thank you notes. Thank you for writing them! Or snapping a thankful picture.

Thank You Notes: Candles

How long must you simmer
the purple-black fruit
of the Ceylon cinnamon tree—

before it yields           handheld light?

—Bethany Rohde (“Candle” poem was featured in Every Day Poems)

Thank You Notes: Ice

See Deb Crawford’s ice poem, featured in Every Day Poems. Photo by Department of Foreign Affairs, Creative Commons, Flickr.

ice cap>
ice pack>
ice field>
ice floe>
ice berg>
T
I
T
A
N
I
C

—Katie

Dear ice, I like
your inward bonds—
how they leave space,
room to breathe,
It’s your best property
as a solid: you can float
above the flow.

—Monica Sharman

Thank You Notes: Evergreens

—photo by Susan Etole

Thank You Notes: Potatoes, Parsnips & Other Root Vegetables

Baby Carrots

Quiet sweetness steamed
whirl-cut
into glossy puree

Undeniably orange yet
willing
to meld and melt
into my toddler’s
mac and cheese

You get past
his baby teeth

—Bethany Rohde

We Did the Mash

I saw you there in your sleek brown coat,
but it was your Irish eyes
that set me steaming.
(I’ve got an eye for an eye, you know.)
You were so fine.
I sidled up to you,
tried to butter you up,
but that lumper boyfriend of yours
saw something sprouting,
and he was boiling mad.
He grabbed the nearest knife,
thought to skin me alive
make chips out of me.
Well, I peeled out of there in an instant,
believe you me.
But then—good morning glory!
I saw your sweet cousin,
fresh scrubbed and all decked out in purple
with blossoms in her hair.
The party had just begun,
the scene was rocking
and everyone was having fun.
So we did the mash.
Mmmmm.

—Sandra Heska King

Quid Pro Carrot

In appreciation and exchange for your working-class lack of pretensions, your knowledge of the dark, your tiny hairs that still try to root themselves in the air, your delicate green feathertops, your versatility, your raw crunch, your roasted sweetness, your very orangeosity, I give you this: I will never again let you die a sad, lonely, lingering death entombed in the crisper.

—Laura Lynn Brown

Featured photo by Jenny Downing, Creative Commons, via Flickr.