Cutting onions

Like every other day,
she is cutting onions
at the kitchen counter.
The Bombay onions
of pinkish purpley hue.
Her practised hand
working the knife like a stern goddess.
A heap of discarded onion beards
on one side of the chopping board,
a baiypolhi of unpeeled onions on the other,
their dry papery skin half peeling
to reveal the firm layers of the bulb underneath.
Her eyes focused,
she stands slicing translucent perfect half moons
with the finesse of an accomplished cook.
She is always cutting onions -
this essential ingredient that makes us all cry,
yet remains the throb of the kitchen’s heart.
I wonder if the constant onion cutting
is her mask for covering up
her heartaches,
blaming her onions for the constant tears
than run down her face.
Tears streaming down her face
she continues cutting her onions.

***

One Shot Wednesday