Slice of Life with Onion
I’m turning into that woman
in Norwood Massachusetts
who lived in the apartment
next to my friend Eugene
She cooked garlic in the skillet
every day at lunchtime
It wafted through the neighborhood
and smelled like Little Italy
And we wondered why
she didn’t have
something better to do
or something different to cook
I don’t remember what we ate
when we were young and on our own
Whatever was put in front of us
or whatever was easy to make
I do remember my mother’s cooking
always a salad and potato
and a meat from the butcher
in Quincy Square
We ate green beans, carrots and corn
Broccoli was too exotic
We never had dessert after dinner
unless there was a birthday to honor
There were eleven of us
around the table my dad refit
Sometimes we would scramble
for that last pork chop
The men and boys had first dibs
Now my days are bookmarked
with a yellow onion
Round like a planet
every good meal
revolves around it
It softens as it sizzles
from crisp to golden
Held at a distance
so it doesn’t make me cry
Protected by layers
Marked with rings of age
It flavors the stirrings
of ordinary days
_______Colleen Redman / Poets and Storytellers United/dVerse Poets Pub
April 12th, 2020 9:11 am
I think my family would pitch a revolt if we went too long with a meal that didn’t include onions or garlic somehow. But that’s what they are used to, with onions featuring a fair bit in the foods both my husband and I grew up with (despite being from very different cultures).
I love how you elevated the humble onion in this piece to something reliable that brings comfort to otherwise bland days.
April 12th, 2020 10:12 am
As someone who learned to cook onions into mush at my dad’s knee/skillet, this made me smile. There’s something meditative about sauteing veg.
April 12th, 2020 11:51 am
I remember my growing up when I read your poem . My mother learning to cook Italian from the neighbor a few doors down. Thank you for bringing me back there.
April 12th, 2020 12:51 pm
This is gorgeous! I especially resonate with; “Now my days are bookmarked with a yellow onion/
Round like a planet every good meal revolves around it.”??
April 12th, 2020 1:15 pm
Broccoli and having dessert were exotic things while I was growing up, too. I really love how those details–knowing that so many of us share big and small things–makes me all warm and smiling inside. And these days, I (and most of us, I think) need both. So, gracias!
April 12th, 2020 1:26 pm
Beautiful! Sensuous…
April 12th, 2020 4:46 pm
Love these reflections I especially love “my days are bookmarked with a yellow onion” and the alliteration of “It softens as it sizzles” and my favourite “It flavors the stirrings
of ordinary days”
April 13th, 2020 1:31 am
I am sure so many of us will have memories such as yours. Many years ago we never had much of a varied diet as kids so treats were many if the menu was ever changed!
April 13th, 2020 2:41 pm
Your poem brought up so many memories of my mother…She could make a feast out of thin air. Perfect title for your poem.
April 16th, 2020 4:46 pm
I adore this portrait of your life…..before and after the onion! It made me smile at so many points. I only grew up with one brother. But I had a dear friend who had 9 siblings. I would have a sleep-over there and I learned very quickly, when the food was passed, you’d better take some then even if it wasn’t your favorite because by the time the plate went round the table, it was all gone! Mrs. Buckley used to grocery shop every day…..because whatever she bought, the kids would eat….so if she bought a lot on one day, thinking the cookies or bread would last for three…nope. It was always gone at the end of the one day! 🙂 Ah….thanks for the memories!
April 16th, 2020 5:06 pm
I like how you saute’ past and present together into pungent yearnings for ordinary days again.
April 16th, 2020 5:28 pm
Such a lovely and nostalgic stroll, bouncing from past to present. Food memories are a perfect Muse. My mother was a housewi\fe, and she bake homemade bread. Oh how I pine for it these days.
April 16th, 2020 6:26 pm
Loved this, an ode to new understanding (and a new routine!)
April 16th, 2020 6:30 pm
Love this! This renewed my appreciation for the onions. As I’m reading I’m taken back to how we used to eat. It was a set menu that varied only with the days of the week. Wednesdays was my favorite. We had stewed red beans with pigs tail and rice. Friday was fish, Saturday was soup and Sunday was rice and peas with stewed beef or chicken. That was the fancy day. Thanks for the memories?
Pat
April 16th, 2020 7:29 pm
Now my days are bookmarked
with a yellow onion
Round like a planet
every good meal
revolves around it
This stanza tells us that we all manage to win over from the trying times of childhood. Good thoughts Colleen
Hank
Hank
April 16th, 2020 7:58 pm
That onion certainly has many layers of meaning.
April 16th, 2020 8:00 pm
Well written poem. Thanks for sharing.
April 16th, 2020 11:53 pm
I like how every meal revolves around a yellow onion.
April 17th, 2020 4:45 am
I enjoyed the image of an onion, Colleen, ‘round like a planet’ with good meals revolving around it. The sizzling from crisp to golden made my mouth water – and it’s only just gone breakfast time!
April 19th, 2020 8:31 am
I really enjoyed this… not least how you tied yourself back to that garlic you started with… Some scents become what we are, and I think it would be hard to be without the scent of onions at home.
April 22nd, 2020 8:31 pm
Ahhhh The smell of fryin’ garlic & then onions & after that comes maybe a green/red pepper & then maybe some onions & then some meat & then the tomatoes and then grandma’s sauce & then of course the homemade noodles. You see my gramma was born in Palermo, Sicily & when I was little I stayed with her on weekends, days off from school & in the summer & it was fun times! I haven’t thought of the happiest time in my life & then my mama would pick me up & I’d run to her for her to take me home & run back to my nonna because I was sad I was leaving. Thank you for my happy thought. You’re a good person my new friend. Thank you for stopping by.