HOLIDAYS

by Jock Jacober

I interrupted some hibernating carrots.

A garden fork twisting them into cold sunlight.

The soil calving like an iceberg,

Dark and fractured.

There has been no snow to relieve the crisp 

Rustle of tawny leaves and patient grass.

The mountains, unnaturally patterned, 

Slump and sigh in the clear sky.

At the solstice, we lit gigantic fires 

Pleading for tranquility and immolating

Our transgressions, a dry celebration

of self-loathing disappointment.

Quietly abusing each other 

our neighbors

 settle traumatically 

Among discarded booze bottles.

In the capsizing reality, the fork

Bites into the earth to lever

Out a bright beet, throbbing 

Like a heart, unleashed.