When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way the knife enters onion
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed.
And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
Posted by kind permission of the author.
In gratitude to K & G Stop moving. Stand in one place – this place….
I wanted to feel stillness so I went for a walk, watched the cobblestones pass…
Sometimes it just stuns you like an arrow flung from some angel’s wing. Sometimes it…
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