Today I stand at the counter
Chopping an onion with my favorite knife
An ordinary act hardly worth noting
I note it.
I chop onion
And ease slowly into the luxury of stirring a meal
For the people I love
Savoring not the aroma of melding onions and wine
But the aroma of life
My oldest, grating Parmesan, fills his stomach more than the bowl but today I don’t mind
My six year old, wrapping her arms around my waist, kissing the parts of me she can reach
The middle boys horsing around, every game a prelude to wrestling
I silently stir my small offering
And drink in the parts that make a whole
For this moment we are
and that is no small thing.