Galileo’s Tomatillo

Random alien running rampant in my garden

Still and chill, stop biting sunflower heads I’ll pardon

Your rudeness in trampling the zinnias

And gardenias.

Noontide traveler don’t distrust this lush oasis

I don’t doubt you’ve been many many places,

Marshes, mountains, hilly dunes, and craters dusted red

But stay weary

colored feet and wandering slitted eyes spread round your head.

And as you waver I’ll give a tomatillo for you to savor.

A little fruit all enshrined like a pearl made from sand

delicate lantern budding and protected as our atmospheric planet, our green marvel,

just like us feeding from the sun’s fair hand.

Come,

tell me what it is you’ve done

To traverse so far and live so long,

Come taste the tomatillo while you think

a little sour and a little sweet.

Our power is in growing.

What is yours?

I’ll make fresh salsa, sit you down and tell you a tale of a planetary town we thought was all alone.

Dip your chip, lick your various lips and tell me how we can improve our many tastes,

I’ll show you how to wrap a tomatillo shell around the light to illuminate your flight

back home.

Speak to your people of small wonders and great hope

Of papery barriers isolating us, waiting to be pulled back, wishing

To do more than look through telescopes.