The Artichoke Women

I smell earth boiling.
Hawkeyeing the women around the table, I hear shrieks and laughter.
""Artichokes!""
And three large green flowers appear.
The cacophony dies to a movement so fine- leaves flittering in pooled butter.
Then,  feral- leaves ripped and scraped on teeth.
I watch astonished as they work to the heart.
I digest my visual meal. Always, from then, remembering the beauty and brawn of getting to the heart of the matter.