The Knife
By Betsy Bell
His death made my kitchen simple.
I put away the cuisinart, the juicer,
the bread maker, even the garlic press.
and took out my knife, the cleaver
Blunt ended, flat edged, broad bladed.
Turned off the radio, the TV, the telephone
and smashed the garlic. Do it
with the flat side of the knife resting on the clove
Then hitting with your fist. Crush. Sending
strength and weight. The skin falls off, chopping begins.
Onion, mushroom, carrot, celery. A crumple of bay.
Each waiting in the cast iron pan.
Then inspiration for supper comes.


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