(no subject)
july
i remember the summer of the onions
all those days my mother had me spend listening
to the clicking of the chopping knife
against the cutting board.
my job was the onions
my task to peel their crunchy skins
from their pungent cores.
in return the onions snatched
burning tears from my eyes,
offered a strange sharpness to the side of my tongue.
barefoot and sweating in july,
i hoped she would set the knife down
on the blue- tiled counter and say
i’ll do the rest.
i remember the summer of the onions
all those days my mother had me spend listening
to the clicking of the chopping knife
against the cutting board.
my job was the onions
my task to peel their crunchy skins
from their pungent cores.
in return the onions snatched
burning tears from my eyes,
offered a strange sharpness to the side of my tongue.
barefoot and sweating in july,
i hoped she would set the knife down
on the blue- tiled counter and say
i’ll do the rest.