Potatoes

From the ground, each round potato,
russet, brown, or gold--crumbs of dirt
still clinging to its skin--just fits
into the palm of the hand that
pulled it from the earth. Brushed clean and
roasted, held again in two hands,
it offers warmth, then nourishes
the body, the hands that held it.

~ Helen Frost, The Braid

Song

The songs that enter children's ears
carried across centuries of
love, stay with them, bringing comfort,
setting their feet dancing, coming
back to them when their own children
first look up and see them smiling
or hear them weeping as they rock,
strong boats upon a stormy sea.

~ Helen Frost, The Braid