The Onion in My Pantry
It’s winter
No longer or more abrasive than it usually is
Every morning begs me to suspend my disbelief in bad omens
And every morning I politely decline
Every morning I put on the same leaden shoes
Sometimes I tie the laces too tight on purpose
I seek perfunctory sustenance
I lose track of time
I buy produce and accidentally let it rot
Those onions have already been in the pantry for too long
(II-Jan)
I wish I could muster the energy to be distraught about something
If I could perhaps I would clean out my pantry
Buying a whole bag of onions was stupid
It presupposes that nourishment is on the agenda
(III-Feb)
An aggressive dust has settled over the kitchen
I lackadaisically trace my name in the residue
It’s a necessary anchor
I usually try not to look into the pantry
Because it reminds me of unfinished business
But today something catches my eye
Gently out of place
A verdant sprig bursts forth
The unassuming bulb from which it originates
Is bathed in humility
And something akin to subtle defiance
I awake the next morning
And bask in my willingness to remember
That there is a cyclical nature to most things