Ode to Radicchio

Tightly furled orb of

Rosy royal purple,

Your leaves not only cling to

One another, but they stretch across

The entire diameter

Of your round body,

Hugging the next leaf desperately,

With abandon,

Even slipping under others

so as to make removal difficult.

This is protection,

This is love,

This is relentless stubbornness;

Radicchio is stubbornness at its

Most

Beautiful.

As my fingers tug,

Your leaves tatter in protest

As if screaming,

“I do not want to leave!”

but if I tug and peel apart

torturously,

slowly

carefully, patiently,

I will discover the tenderness

In the center

And I will smile because

Your heart, O tenacious radicchio,

Is as tender and trusting

As a newborn baby.

This is what you’re hiding

This is why the adult leaves

Upon your body and

Still deep within layers

Expand and cling to every part,

Resisting exploration

In order to protect this:

Sweet lavender clamshell leaves,

Miniscule,

Loosely bundled into your core.

They are too trusting,

Too naïve,

And they fall apart in my hands,

Not yet old enough to be bitter

To be protective

To be stubborn

To be scared.