I should have grown up in a field
with my feet pushed deep in the ground
and my hands massaging the soft back
of the wind. I should have had beet blood
or carrot skin. Had I been born
in a scuffed cradle of warm soil and dung,
I would have seen the coming of spring with all
the thoroughness of a potato; I would have danced
on the tips of my toes for the summer sun;
I would have held my breath between the weeds
and had my itches scratched with a hoe.
Had I been a bean, I would have shouted
my love with blossoms and kept my army
of children hidden. I should have had
the slender wrists of a tomato and the big dreams
of a cabbage. I should have stood proudly
in a long row. I would have been
reciting to myself had I been a stalk of corn.