We stand in the onion fields looking up at the night.
Robert Bly
He has dragged his muddy feet into the kitchen again,
as I cry at the counter peeling and chopping.
I, too, once looked up at the night. Now,
the stars, I prefer to drink them. Dancing
in my glass, lighting the dark corners
of my grubby badger heart, they will subside, I know.
But what of the happiness they wrought?
Laughter around a table, flavor of onions
and mustard and salt, music to drown the sound
of his weeping. All the gods are fallen.
I am not heartbroken. Cronus eats his children,
we know what Abraham was prepared to do for his Lord.
I dig in the dirt for potatoes and beets
that taste of earth. No one can convince me
the dirt is not beautiful. Had we disdained
the serpent and the badger less we would not now be looking
to Mars to save us. Pour some wine, turn up the music.
Can we please not have to listen to that infernal weeping?
--
Copyright 2019 Roberta HatcherRoberta Hatcher is the author ofFrench Lessons.
Vox Populi 
Ahhhh. Beautiful work. Thank you!
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Congratulations on your poem being published on Vox Populi. I can taste it, smell it and hear it!
And thanks for the photo credit on FB.
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Sorry, Ruth, I didn’t know the photo was one of yours. I’ve inserted a credit below the image.
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Thanks Michael.
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Wonderful poem!
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