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With a paring knife
And a cooking onion
In my hands.
Taking my time
To ensure
No fingers are nicked
By the slicing blade.
Pruning back
The dry and crumbly
Dead layers
Into the garbage bag.
As if
I'm paring back
My life
Before me.
Trying not
To rub
My burning eyes.
Whose tear ducts
Are overflowing
With sadness
From past memories.
With each layer
I have removed
Before placing it
On the cutting board.
All the time
Wishing
I was handling
Its milder cousin
The Leek.
For the soup pot.
As a stray hand
Starts rubbing
An eye or two.
Trying to ease
The stinging
I feel.
Knowing
It's a task
I have to face.
As crying
Is cathartic
For ones soul.
In removing
The dead memories
We have gathered
Over our life.
Allowing us
16 comments:
LOVE the title. I could do with a serving of soul soup right about now. I love that the chopping accompanies remembering, so the tears serve a double purpose.
So true that crying can be cathartic. But really in regard to onions, red onions don't make one cry as much. (Smiles) But, yes, leeks are better still. I enjoyed this. A poem with many layers....just like an onion!
We can never over-rate catharsis! Onion with it's layers and ability to produce tears is the perfect prop and allegory.
Well if the crying can result in hot soup.. it has to be good for the soul!
It helps to wear spectacles however having an opportunity to cry allows you to remember all those you have loved and lost with dignity.
love this layered poem showing the way to move on...
I love this :D brilliant response to the prompt :D
Thank you, Sanaa, for your kind words, on this poem.
Thank you, Sumana. Originally, I had a different idea, on how I was going to use it, as a metaphor, for the struggles that I have experienced, in my healing, with chronic depression, PTSD and various other anxiety disorders. But, am very happy, with the poem that I written here, before you.
Thanks, Old Egg, but I do wear glasses, of the polarized variety, to protect my eyes, from extreme photosensitivity. Just sometimes, a finger gets under the lens, and rubs the eye.
Thank you, thotpurge, not to mention, your autoimmune system, as well.
Thank you, Susan. Do wish that my dad hadn't told me, to "suck it up", as a child, given the harm, it has done, to me, emotionally and physically.
Thank you, Mary, for the kind words and the cooking tip, but I dislike onions. Especially, after my mom made me, drink a liver and semi-cooked onion smoothie, after one of my childhood surgeries. Still have nightmares about that night's supper.
Thank you, Sherry, titles are one of the hardest part, about writing my poem that I have. Leaving the title, to the very last moment, before finishing the poem. And yes, I would love to share some soul soup, with you, but not fully out of my depression, yet, to start cooking a patch, on the weekend.
Congrats on 2500!
I love the parallel of the onion to life - a necessity to be sure
Thank you, Moondustwriter, for your generous words, and taking the time, to read this poem.
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