Sautéed onions and butter

In fire-orange Le Creuset

A shaft of sunlight slashes the red carpet of the living room,

Dust floating within it, particles of universe

Barely moving in my memory.

The piano over there, sparkling black,

A violin plays softly

Swirling song of home at rest.

Warmth inside, winter cold in the hills, a Saturday maybe,

My father crossing the shaft of light,

A red turtleneck, Indian red, calm today

Incantation divine, pursuits easy, still.

Green outside, olives now picked,

Homework before me,

Tomorrow earned, safe today.

The wooden spoon taps

In the onions and butter,

The sweet smell forever luring me,

The past tucking me in,

The future immaterial.

You liar. You sweet liar.