Using the Last Bit of Red Onion Left by Rachel
Lost for weeks in the corner of the crisper drawer,
it appears just in time to save the carrot soup.
One large hunk of red onion, partially used, still good.
I get nostalgic, remembering how Rachel, gone for three weeks,
served it with eggs, and though I didn’t eat them
I remember how delicious the kitchen smelled then.
It is her hand that chose it, her hand that sliced the rings.
I laugh at my own nostalgia. But I miss her, the all of her,
the giggling on the couch with her, the singing in the car,
cayenne and hot chocolate late night, poems, wine.
And slicing the onion, thinking about how Rachel she is,
it is right somehow that I should start to cry.
I
Love
This
M
__________
Marie Marshall
author/poet/editor
Scotland
Thank you Marie. r
aaaahh, mayan hot chocolate. ’tis sublime.
of course, now that you’ve used the onion, hand-selected, hand-sliced by rachel, you’ve taken in at least some wee bit of her essence. silly you, missing someone who’s right there inside you. (in your tum-tum) :~)
Isn’t it true … How we are all part of one wonderful whole, but still there is this illusion of separation that sometimes seems very real. Sigh.
That ending, as usual, rings true, how the nostalgia b(rings) it on. And that I even get to smell the eggs cooking, that’s nice. Happy 4th.
No wonder Rachel smelled so red, so layered when she arrived In these here parts. And my eyes got all burning and teary when I saw her. Wuz the onion that’s it. Pretty sure.