My mother keeps garlic in the kitchen.

The bulbs at the bottom of their worn wicker basket collapse in on themselves in despair of being minced. They lend their passionate essence to dreams and become hollow shells devoid of potent black magic.

I cry with the onions.

If garlic is queen-mother to sugar, onions crown the princes of salinity with open hearts and an ancient invitation to grieve.

I am a wellspring of sorrow. My sisters scalp each other to the chimes of the clock announcing midday. Their hair regrows down to their knees in the night. Luscious black locks. Goddesses.

Sitting in the scented moonlight my toes tremble. The steam that curls above artistic plates is the same clarity that haloes each salt-grain star.

I cry with the onions.

I do not feel the sting of their smell. The bites they leave in my eyes become flecks of gold among my blue irises. The tears are mine. Mine alone. Over the wooden countertop, where red and white onions have bled and garlic has stained, I weep openly and avoid inquiry.

It is refreshing and revitalizing. My tears are for myself, as is the selfish experience of eating. I eat of the same food as my family, but perhaps my mouthfuls taste saltier, perhaps they know a different kind of happiness.

I cry with the onions.

Photo by Elise Wilcox on Unsplash

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34 thoughts on “Wedding

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  1. Wow! I’m amazed at how excellent the metaphors in this poem. You really did a great job in captivating the emotion of readers through your words. Thank you so much for sharing! x

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love this! It really reminded me of the book, Like Water for Chocolate, and how food and emotion play into each other especially when it comes to the big ones like happiness and sadness.

    Your words never fail to amaze! πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A really interesting and create piece of work. What gave you the inspiration to write a piece that involves garlic and onion? Also, how does the poem and title connect? I get the connection between those food items and emotions, but I feel like I’m missing something, likely due to being dyslexic

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I love the idea that cooking is a form of creative expression. One connection between the poem and the title was, for me, an expression of how a new bridge is leaving behind the comforts of the food she knows for a new cuisine. Another meaning also lies in the marriage of flavors onion and garlic both bring to food.
      Delighted to offer my thoughts on Wedding! Thank you for posing the question. πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  4. You write that your food is saltier.
    Tears are saltier.
    onions bled and you cry, this goes beyond the kitchen and you are able to let me feel the smell of pain.
    So I am here incredibly lost in a “hollow shells devoid of potent black magic” just like if suffering could involve something magic as well. Just like if magic could be salted.
    You are GREAT Jaya!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I have told you before that I absolutely love your “food” poems that are so much more than the ingredients mentioned. I devoured this poem and will go back for seconds. Very bad joke, I know. Fantastic poem. Do you mind if I share this with Sandra, the author I work with?

    Liked by 2 people

    1. 😍 I am more of a gastronomical in words than at heart, and am delighted by both your enjoyment of Wedding and you πŸ˜‚ joke.
      I would be honored if you shared this with your friend! Thank you for inquiring and for sharing your amazing thoughts, Michele. πŸ’–


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