potato


I stand at the sink
a potato cradled in my hand
my head bowed, as if in prayer

outside, light is fading
the garden disappearing into dusk
my children are collapsed near the television
the debris of their day scattered about them

this night, like any other
as life flickers on
drawing me inexorably
through this day, and the next

as my thoughts turn in circles
I peel the skin from this potato
slicing through layer after layer
as though in search of some inner truth

when this one is stripped to the bone
I place it to one side, take a deep breath
then, unable to stop myself, I reach for another





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