Slicing
She slices onions with expertise, and I watch as the
steel knife glints
and flakes of light green fall
perfectly under her control.
My eyes tear up but she does not
appear to be affected by the trauma
of onion juice.
Her wrinkled hands are wiser than mine
and I clumsily try to keep up
with her as
the onion is cut into perfect thirds
And then thirds again.
My own pieces are scattered like fallen leaves and I crane my neck
to catch a glimpse of her perfect chunks of green,
The knife slices
With soft sounds of ringing metal.
The potatoes come next,
Round yellow orbs
Rotund in the morning light.
She hums a little tune and her dark eyes look upon my
own ones kindly; her
hair has developed white strands peeking out
at the roots
underneath the disguised
chocolate brown.
She explains that potatoes are different from onions;
they must be sliced in half and then
half again;
she takes my hand and guides it;
the finger must hold the knife close to the edge
the thumb tucked underneath nails
that must dig into potato flesh
to make sure youth never gets cut.
Her back is a little hunched over,
mouth pursed slightly
as she concentrates on slicing.
Her breathing has gotten heavier over the years
And I know that it’s harder for her to climb up on stairs
With bad knees
But the knife is so entrancing
and I cannot take my eyes off as I watch
Perfection spiral into chunks of vegetables on the cutting
Board.
She pauses for a moment, and I pause too,
grateful for a chance at rest.
Perspiration has formed on my upper brow and I look up at she
Who has no visible sign of distress at all.
She smiles at me and nods her approval—
Uneven green chunks find their way among perfected ones
And choppy yellow potatoes are at home among their
Elder brethren.
A tray of yellow and green nestled lovingly by old hands as they place the dish
Carefully into the oven,
Savory smells of salt and pepper emitting in
Mere minutes.
She does not expect much
appreciation for what she has done
but the mouthwatering, tantalizing taste of
love stays with me
even after the taste of
onions and potatoes melt under my
ungrateful tongue.
