I expected to find Mom in the living room,
smoking a cigarette and watching TV.
Instead, she was in the kitchen
peeling potatoes. I paused
to watch her pull the paring knife toward her
with each peel,
like she’d done a thousand times before.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub, and Mish is tending bar. Payment for a drink is one 44-word Quadrille including some form of the word peel. My offering is a modified version of a paragraph from chapter 1 of my memoir, turned to free verse.