Andy Hopkins

A n d y  H o p k i n s

Garlic

We grow best unseen, unwatched, unmarked, unsung -

become bulbous, slug-speeded, pregnant, curved.

Autonomously we writhe the tilth.

Our bodies: edibly rocky; one-purposed:

slim husks of muscle, strain struck against the soil -

sinews swell; primordial gunk gestates

each perfect, papery sac. Each clove muck-hewn

from other cloves and other muck, muck-hewn.

We like cold better than you; whilst you

lazed by winter fires and winter lights we

put down our roots, we founded land: we claimed

your ceded soil, ran up green flags. Danced

our chill defeat of these cadaverous months.