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Tonight we will have onion soup,
I will slip off the papery skin,
so neat and tight-clinging,
polished barrier against the wind
and discard the outer most
darkened shell, coarse-veined green.
Inside layer upon layer,
slippery levels held together
by the curve and shine of it.
Each revealed and sliced away,
oozing bright light pearls
as the knotted root-anchors are severed.
I am skilled at this dissection,
the fragments melt into each other
until there is no way of knowing
which is the bitter oil
springing tears from secret places
and which is the sweet note
from the innermost heart.
*****
Alice Christie (viii . 2012)
I will slip off the papery skin,
so neat and tight-clinging,
polished barrier against the wind
and discard the outer most
darkened shell, coarse-veined green.
Inside layer upon layer,
slippery levels held together
by the curve and shine of it.
Each revealed and sliced away,
oozing bright light pearls
as the knotted root-anchors are severed.
I am skilled at this dissection,
the fragments melt into each other
until there is no way of knowing
which is the bitter oil
springing tears from secret places
and which is the sweet note
from the innermost heart.
*****
Alice Christie (viii . 2012)
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Wow.
ReplyDeleteI am impressed - the French onion soup is pretty good as well
ReplyDeleteI am skilled at this dissection- that line is fabulous. Frightening nearly! Makes you speculate... Like Sue I wonder of you could lyricise our bangers and mash!
ReplyDeleteAwwwwwwwwwww :-)
ReplyDeletewe had pasta.
ReplyDeletetotally the least romantic food in the world. Delicious... but not worthy of poetry.
(peeling onions makes me cry like mad)
you captured that dichotomy beautifully.
ReplyDeleteI can't stop rereading this. It is a kind of perfection.
ReplyDeleteI have two cauliflowers in the kitchen ... your thoughts on fractals?
Good grief Alice a stunning picture and a poem too? My cup runneth over.
ReplyDelete