I take my children to the farm each Saturday for fresh vegetables.
It’s our new tradition.

At different times throughout the summer,
The kids pick strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, or cherry tomatoes.
They enjoy trying to pull the delicate fruit from the plant with their tiny fingers.

I’ll collect our other vegetables from the farm stand.
There is usually some lettuce for us, and whatever is in season;
Beets, eggplant, squash, etc.
While I’m placing the veggies into our bags,
The kids sit down to draw and color pictures of the animals
At a long table they have set up inside.

Sometimes I’ll think of what I’m going to make with each item.
Beet bread? Eggplant parm? Chili? Pizza?
But most times I just let my mind ramble…

For example, I might be thinking
Should I learn Kung Fu?
You know, just for the discipline of it,
Not for fighting.
Or, will I ever finish the book I picked up from the library?
It’s still sitting on the coffee table.
These are the some things on my mind

Sometimes I’ll think about a recent moment when I was feeling a bit poetic,
Like the time I saw the full moon filling up the sky on my way home from work.
I couldn’t find the words I felt in my heart to describe it,
I just called it my big fat blood red moon,
And that sounded good to me when I said it aloud alone in my car,
My big fat blood red moon.
But the words didn’t sound as good when I wrote then down.

The moon is always eluding me.
I wonder what it must have been like to land on it?
What did the Earth look like from the moon’s surface?
There are pictures of the Earth from the moon,
But when I look at the pictures,
The feelings I get aren’t really the same as if I had been there,

It’s like reading about Jesus drawing a line in the sand,
Versus actually being there.
But I was there.
I saw his face and I saw the Pharisees condemning me.
I saw myself condemn myself.
Me, the Pharisee and me, the alleged adulteress woman.
I saw his face and I saw his merciful love,
His intense compassion for me.

“Go now and leave your life of sin”

Thank you.


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.