Sunday Seasoning
A day meant for repose and renewal?
And planning ahead for the week to come
He sat with a barrel under his knees
Calm in demeanor with eyes at ease
He peeled potatoes in quantities of many
His hands must of felt crude and stingy
From the iodine reaching his cut callous hands
The aroma of sauteing onions rising in the kitchen
It was a chilly snowy day with the warmth of cooking in the air
Potatoes lined the cutting board
The racket of the large cutting knife was all I heard
So many shapes of difference
Some potatoes with eyes and knots
Some had none
My heart lumped with sheer anticipation
For all his work on the potatoes soup and it’s preparation
Oh, all the hours of my sensors in endless ample delight
As my tongue waited patiently for the night
Thank God for Sundays and a day of rest
But at least for me
Until his is done and then I’ll have to clean up the mess
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