Potatoes For Lunch

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Usually
We eat rice.

And I forget about potatoes

Until they’re wrinkled and shrunken and sprouting shoots.

But today, I remembered.

Today, maybe,
I needed the extra comfort that only a potato can provide.

I found them,
In the bottom of the trolley,
Where they sit with the onions and,
For some strange reason,
Kairo pocket-warmers.

They were shrunken,
Shrivelled,
Covered in sprouts.

I peeled that all away,
Down below the green
Which Mum always said could kill me.

I peeled that all away,
Down below the ugliness of the hairy eyes,
And the sickness of the solanine toxins
Hidden amongst the green of the chlorophyll.

I peeled that all away.

And I discovered
That down below the potato’s broken exterior,
Down below all the bits just waiting to kill me,
Was something I could work with.

And so I had potatoes for lunch.

Published by helenkamakura

Helen is a Canadian writer and innkeeper based in Kamakura, Japan, where she lives with her Japanese husband and two children. If money became obsolete, she would happily accept peaches, fresh peas, and sun-warmed cherry tomatoes in exchange for her labour.

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