A poem about chopping onions

Written during Pat Borthwick's wonderful 'Food for Thought' workshop at Trebah today. Many thanks to Pat, and to Chris Considine and Lyn Moir, who also read so beautifully afterwards...

Cross-cut

How old was I – seven, eight? –

the first time you let me take
the sharpened knife and use it

the way you’d shown me, to slice
the onion clean through its core
and place each half, flat-side down,

and cut it lengthwise, then hold
the two sides firm together
so they wouldn’t slip, and cut

across, not rushing, always
keeping the blade steady, slow,
so that it cleaved the crisp, pale

rings, not my small fingers. How

hard it was to watch that and not

let me sense you flinch I know

only now, seeing my own child’s
fingers on the board and, as she
slices, feeling the years close up.

                                                       
                                                   Tom Scott