It's there, right past the impulse to give up.

It turns apples, small, pocked with holes
into pie and cobbler
breathing spice through the kitchen.

Gathers butternut squash, turnips and beets
using the worst first,
putting the best by.

Picks frost-bitten broccoli plants
as edible bouquets for the cows
to pluck away dark leaves with soft lips before
crunching on the stems, savoring each mouthful.

Salvages the green tomatoes to make fiery curries.
Finds uses for whey left after cheesemaking,
the last bit of honeycomb, the shriveled peppers.

It lies within
the poor harvest, the wilt,
the bad spots, the lean times.
I won't give up
on you either.