The smell of Thanksgiving
embedded in its warm wood.
Vegetables for turkey stuffing chopped
in this old bowl, as she rocked
the blade back and forth, down and up
in a kitchen rhythm, globes of onions,
stalks of celery, transformed into chunks,
into bits, to be tossed with torn bread,
broth, sage and thyme.
The bowl has a split now,
from one edge to center,
so I no longer use it as she did.
But sometimes I pick up the blade,
curve my fingers around the handle,
caress my mother's palm.
SYLVIA LEVINSON lives in San Diego, CA. Her publications include: Snowy Egret, Blue Arc West, City Works (National Award Winner 2007), Hunger and Thirst, Mamas and Papas, San Diego Poetry Annual, San Diego Writers Ink, Magee Park, The Christian Science Monitor, The Golden Lantern and forthcoming in Ekphrasis. Her book, Gateways, Poems of Meditation and Renewal is available at www.sylvialevinson.com.