Sunday, June 10, 2012

Breakfast vegetables




I come too late to see you dice the vegetables,
Nibble finger tips holding each shaft
As the knife blade slices
The chopping sound as loud in that kitchen
As the wood I need to chop in my own yard
your fingers growing pink as they press
Against the remaining green
As if needing to exert more of yourself
The less there is to chop
I wanted to see your face when you did this
How hard you bit down on your lip
With each snip
You pausing to collect the pieces
Sweeping them into the bowl
The mounting bits of green flesh there
And the tidbits left on the counter
To sponge away
I wanted to see the look in your eyes
The immense satisfaction at the cutting
And the clean up,
At the mounted bits that waited for me
And the eggs
And consumption,
But I came too late
For anything
Except to get consumed.

(2012 notebook)

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