the mystery of the compost heap

​Unplanted, unbidden, uninvited
it sprouted from the compost heap,
the mystery plant,
its tendrils creeping across
the vegetable plot.

"Some kind of squash,"
the neighbour pronounces
with masculine certainty,
"Maybe a pumpkin,
maybe a zucchini."

I just shrug, because
I'd eaten both last fall and
the seeds and skin of both
ended up on the compost heap.

Over the summer, the tendrils grow,
caressing the peas and the kale,
crawling among the carrots and kohlrabi,
and fingering the potato plants.  

The mystery squash blooms, 
and finally
fruit begin to form,
half pumpkin orange,
half zucchini green.

"A hybrid," 
the neighbour pronounces,
eager to share his horticultural wisdom,
"Created by cross-pollination,
and seeds mixing
on the compost heap."

"Most fascinating,"
the neighbour concludes.
I just nod and smile,
because otherwise he'll never shut up.

Come harvest time
the mystery plant has given me
a bounty of green and orange.
The neighbour gets one – 
I have so many, after all –
and I take the rest.

Carefully, I cut their skin,
half orange and half green
and golden yellow inside.

I save the seeds
to grow more next year
and pickle the flesh,
and make curry and soup
and pumpkin bread,
delicious all.

For all the best things
grow from more than one seed.

---

Cora Buhlert was born and bred in Bremen, North Germany, where she still lives today – after time spent in London, Singapore, Rotterdam and Mississippi. Cora has been writing since her teens and has published various stories, articles and poems. When she is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher.