common beans

I hide simple beans
in my cupboard. Black,
sometimes pinto — suspicious
of unspellable gypsies who come
and go as they please, one day
adorned with an arbitrary z, the next
casting it off it like
a bitter seed coat, crowing
that the cook set it wrong.
My beans dangle lightheaded
in silver cans, suspended
in dark, formless slip; common
beans who’ve sat a long time
and know only who they are.


A reply to the adzuki/aduki  bean in
L.L. Barkat’s Rumors of Water. See the
full discussion at Tweetspeak Poetry.


About LW Lindquist

I'm a writer. I'm also a claims adjuster, helping people and insurance companies make sense of loss. I work out of my home in the rural Midwest most days, and other days, out of yours. When I'm not crunching numbers or scaling small buildings, you can find me with a stiff cup of coffee and a book on my sofa, bantering in the introvert's hideout on Facebook, or avoiding Twitter. I'm an editor at Tweetspeak Poetry, a premier play-place for poets, word lovers, artists and photographers. We're home to a poetry daily (Every Day Poems) and an award-winning press (T. S. Poetry Press) which boasts an Oprah Magazine Best Summer Read. We're also the fine confectioners of where you can share sweetness with someone special or the whole world.

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