Motto: Writers Helping Writers

Rome Area Writers

“In Praise of Pokeweed”

By Shirley Owens
Text Box: Pokeweed: The reporter called it scrawny, ugly, Accused it of marring the beauty of the landscape. A would-be writer, I thought, shaming his heritage. His own long line of Southern mothers Had welcomed springtime, not by the light or heat of the sun, But by the first sight of fresh poke salat sprouts. Vernal leaves of green, tiny blossoms of white, Summer berries of darkest blue, bare stalks of red in winter, Its only crime was sometimes seeking life In soil not hospitable for roses. Those mothers knew the valued truth. With joy they filled their apron basket with fresh leaves, Glad for something green, glad to supplement the dwindling Salt pork and dried beans, glad for the abundance. Now they themselves could take full share and more, No longer weighing in the balance how to divide Between the children at the table and the baby at the breast. A child might view the plate with some disdain, Aware that twice-boiled salat lay beneath The heap of egg, hard cooked and chopped. But hunger and need outweighing reluctance, He would obediently clean his plate To earn his mother’s beam of satisfaction. Years might pass before that child remembered pokeweed. Long since accustomed to marketplace abundance, He no longer had the need to search for salat, But then one April afternoon, stumbling on the plant, He would pick the large but tender leaves, And for a lark, perhaps, prepare the dish, Topped with eggs and fresh ground pepper. Surprisingly delicious! His mother’s lore at long last vindi- cated. Critics of the lowly, take thought before you write. We delight in pokeweed. Through summer, fall, and winter We watch the warblers, waxwings, cardinals, and their cousins Congregate to reap the pokeweed’s proffered harvest, A kaleidoscope of color in the blue-black clusters. And, in spring, friends gladly come to share Our Rite of Spring tradition, a pokeweed supper, Specially prepared for discriminating tastes. If someday, we might have it said of us, “They, like the Pokeweed, nourished those most needful,” We would accept that ample praise for life well spent.