Elizabeth Deanna Morris Lakes

Brussels Sprouts

Harvesting the first sprouts
left us with sore knees
ground in with dirt.

This year’s crop is small,
little green marbles
in our hands. 

We pull back leaves
like loose layers of curtains.
to find the ripest specimens
near the base. 

Exhausted,
I fall asleep with you 
in the shade of the oak. 
When I wake, you’ve left
a sprout in the hollow 
of my neck, which I eat—

leaf petal by leaf petal
she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me

—before heading inside.

The first time I saw 
Brussels sprouts, I thought
they looked like tumors,
you said, with growths that close
to the body, the stalk.

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Elizabeth Deanna Morris Lakes was born in Harrisburg, PA and has a BA in Creative Writing from Susquehanna University and an MFA from George Mason University. She has appeared in The Rumpus, Cartridge Lit, Gulf Stream Lit, Crab Fat Magazine, and SmokeLong Quarterly. Her book, Ashley Sugarnotch & the Wolf, is out from Mason Jar Press.