Archive
11/23/11
Onions and Celery
Sometimes, the pleasure accruing from minor activities So overwhelms your senses, You almost lose sight of their monumental consequences.
Totally focused on slicing celery stalks, lengthwise, Then chopping them into bite-size morsels, Now concentrating on peeling one onion, cutting off its ends,
Reducing it to circles, before paring them into pieces Ready, with the celery, to be tossed into the stuffing's bowl, Filled with bread crumbs, eggs, seasonings, and butter,
I lose myself to the unadulterated joy That comes from sharing in preparing once-a-year dishes We'll have for our Thanksgiving Day celebration.
Just being in this tiny kitchen, as your eager assistant, Attentively watching, listening to, looking at you cooking, Doing what I can to keep from getting underfoot,
I'm a kid, again, of seven, on vacation from school, Mesmerized by my beautiful mother's minuet, Being performed in our aromatic, late-forties kitchen,
Both of us enchanted by the savory smells of turkey baking, I especially entranced, following her choreography, As she blends zucchini and sweet-potato casseroles,
Creamed spinach, cranberry sauce, corn on the cob, Into a feast which we, my father, and little sister will enjoy When Howdy Doody ends, on our new RCA Victor TV.
Suddenly, I'm seventy, again, Back in your condo's fragrant kitchen, hungry to kiss you, Realizing how the seemingly least of perfunctory rites
Can become the most romantic of rituals, Once you let one onion and half a dozen celery stalks Dictate the nature of love, to your thanks-giving sensibility.
11/23/11
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