I felt like writing more about carrots, and the contest is over, so without further adieu...

🥕

The first time I tasted buttery
orange flesh softened by fire
and sautéed by garlic flower

I thought I'd devoured
the most delicious carrot
from the richest farmland

on the West Coast
of the Golden State
of this post-glorious country,

and who was I to think
I was wrong?—until the cake
from the bonnet-headed woman

arrived: she visited our office
on Friday afternoons, overpriced
snacks on her wobbly cart,

her carrot cake beckoning
me to celebrate, for the original
carrot love's sake, with just one

slice:
just a taste;
only to find

sweet root vegetables
could be sweeter still
when harvested from beyond

the superstore grapevine.
From cake then,
I had to ask,

though I knew
once I went there,
I couldn't go back:

What would the carrot
taste like if I grew it myself,
with the creative potential

of my two hands?
So I tilled the backyard
and turned the compost

with eggshells, coffee grounds,
and kitchen scraps battered
by mud and rain, gently

massaging the carrot seeds
an eighth of an inch
into fertile soil, pleased

by the February rain clouds
looming closer, approaching
spring harvest with promise.

♦️

First draft: February 19
Word count: 216