I am chopping tomatoes, earning my keep.
Next will be olives and goddess sauce.
What burns me is the free ride, I tell you.
How he will marry, how he will live a good life.
And where does that leave my sister?
And where does that leave anyone?
You are considering this in your wet apron.
His wife will know, you say.
And I don’t know what is worse, that she will not know
or that she will know.
Where do these men go afterward?
Someone must love them.
I stand at the counter with my big knife,
ready to cut into anything.
You carefully hold a stack of warm, clean plates.
You say: Please remember to love the world.
You do not lean away from the blade.
A man, you say: We must, we must be kind.