Carrots make me teary

A temporary condition

I’m a hot root vegetable mess.

Of course that’s relative—I try not to compare my emotional scale to anybody else’s. For me, tears are like eclipses, few and far between.

I do my best to control my emotions—instead of them controlling me.

But this morning our dance is more tango than waltz.

What about you?

Do you salsa or slow dance? Depends on the music?

Three months ago, when snowflakes fell instead of apple tree blossoms, I stood in a dark kitchen at 6:30 am with a soft black ear tickling my calf, snout rooting through the trash after uneven carrot peels.

Ears and snout, now ash, stand by, in a box, on a desk, awaiting release. Mara’s soul left long ago, but her influence lives on.

Now late May, the sun delivers light before bakeries fire their ovens.

And the human who carried carrots in cellophane to the school cafeteria five days a week,

Attends his last day of high school.

Carrots make me teary.
I ponder the lessons and know,
One day I’ll peel and slice again, without salty cheeks.

This post was written on Friday, May 24, 2019.