All morning I observe the sinuous feelings
I chop. Tears flood from my eyes and my face burns.
I cry without crying, for all the grandmothers before me
chopping onions for their family.
For the matrilineal soup
For the children fed with green, red, and orange wisdom
The red slices through with a power so provocative
my soul arrives
It swirls around the little trees and imprints the veins
with what we once knew as nourishment
With rooted laws of nature
tapped into the core
with long dark wings above the ground
her red round belly bulb shoots up undeniable beauty
reaching up towards life
and down towards sustenance
And the liquid swirls. The heat rises like a serpent invoked
like a mad mermaid
like my tears challenged to come by an onion
She talks to me in her layered voice
poking and prodding and asking me
what i want. commanding me to add it to the pot.
I'll cook it up for you and serve it hot, my dear
It's not as scary as you think.
The steam takes my tears
and those red red round roots
dare me to belly up