Braids of peppers and garlic festoon booths
filled with sweet corn and fingerling potatoes,
perfect for roasting in vinegar and sea salt.
Into her bag, she adds onions and tomatoes,
then buys honey from cranberry blossoms
that bloomed in the bog near her home.
She buys a box of raspberries, an eggplant,
and music garlic, the variety the Garlic Man
says is most versatile. Then the Apple Lady
hands her a folded five-dollar bill and says,
“You dropped this last fall.” She hands it back
to pay for a peck of Duchess apples, the best
for sauce and pie, breathing in their sweet
scent blended with cilantro, dill, basil, and
flowers — oh, the flowers: zinnias, sunflowers,
gladiolas, lilies; and dahlias big as dinner plates,
so reasonably priced that every week she walks
cheerfully to the car, her market bag heavy,
a huge bouquet cradled in her arms.

This poem first appeared on the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets’ 65th Anniversary Poetry Quilt.
Used here with the author’s permission.