On Wednesdays
The vegetables / behave themselves
under / my grandmother’s / practised hands.
Cutting boards / can’t sing / but they / can preach
patience / in a steady / percussion / like so.
When the knife / is guided / into my / soft hands
the carrot / is sliced too thick and
the / capsicum / is / diced / too / small.
She holds / my chilli-burned / fingertips and
crinkles her / onion-soaked / eyes.
Our laughter / lights the stove / and makes soup.