Potatoes
by Doug Tanoury

I stood before a pile of potatoes
In the grocery store today
That somehow strangely seemed
To awaken memories in me
For they were large
With irregular bulges and scars
With a sandpaper texture
Dirty and rough
Like my father's hands

And in the middle of the crowded store
I stood alone touching the potatoes
Running my hands over their skin
Gently stroking them
Caressing them
Cupping their roughness and
Holding them in my palms for a long time