First place, Poetry - 'Farmer's Market Club'

Dreaming of growing maitakes from my cheeks

Of walking through a layer cake of limestone

The American West. Tired of being

Corn leaves. Or Gala apples.

Haven't called you Baby Bella enough, haven't let you see the

morrells that grow on my underside.

Haven't kissed you under your nails. Where dirt collects.

My mother didn't raise me to love chanterelles -

Too expensive. But, If you want to make

wild rice soup,

I'll buy you chanterelles. I'll let the room fill with steam,

Rust orange, dried greens.

What other moment could hold me tighter

Than right now?