when I weep at night

Its never the onions

sliced for supper

still lingering on my hands

long after the dishes are dried,

stacked in neat rows

behind a closed door.

.

You smell of crisp frosted air

and pine needles swept from the dirt path

when the wind rushes past.

.

I layer pepper, salt, spices

hoping to add enough flavor

to the meat on my plate.

.

.

Inspired by http://thefragrancewriter.com/2020/04/05/journey-man/

Corona challenge collab!

Recently Johnny Crabcakes and I were reminiscing about the fun we used to have writing here. Just now Jay Bleu and I were playing with hashtags and it was so much fun.

I would like to host a weekend challenge!

In the comments post a haiku that is centered on onions (traditional or not-senyru or tanka work as well).

Reply to any haiku in the comments that gives you an idea USING A WORD OR THOUGHT FROM THAT HAIKU WITHIN YOURS but your reply doesn’t need to have onions in it!!! Then keep the chain going!

I’ll start in the comments below!

turning up the volume

if you smile loudly enough, no one listens for your whisper.