Slicing an Egg

Make every word count, I say
to my students the way
my mother said make every step
count in the kitchen. Still I bumble
after so many years, forget
to bring salt to the table,
return twice for the gallon
of milk. Today, I hold a boiled
egg in my palm, slice it
into salad. I nick the fleshy underside
of a finger and remember her
with a towel around her hand
stirring gravy and hauling
dinner to the field before
she drove to town for stitches.

:: Tami Haaland, Breath in Every Room

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