Mise en Place

The guy on the screen makes it look like a dance,

the way he glides the blade through the skin.

I’m standing here, taking a terrified chance,

waiting for the actual meal to begin.

I’ve got three onions and a dull paring knife

and a papercut stinging on the pad of my thumb.

It’s a small, stinging lesson in this half of my life,

learning how to feed the person I’ve become.

The juice hits the cut and I swear at the sink,

watching the white layers fall into the pan.

It’s quieter here than I’d like to think,

just the stove and the steam and the work of a man.