Peeling a Potato

November 9, 2009

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The comfortable fit of a potato in my hand

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Peeling a potato

Peeling a Potato
by Ted Kooser

Pablo Casals should see me now,
bowing this fat little cello,
peeling off long white chords.

I am not famous like Pablo,
not yet.  The amphitheater
of the kitchen sink is nearly empty.
As the notes reel out,
I hear only the hesitant clapping
of a few moist hands.

I am playing the solo variations
of J. S. Bach. Wonderfully,
I sweep with my peeler.  See me lean
into the work, tight lipped,
the light in my hair.  Inspiration
trickles over my handsome old hands.

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Varieties of potatoes at a farmers' market

“Let the skies rain potatoes.”
     — William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor

 

One Response to “Peeling a Potato”

  1. Ann Roth Says:

    What a delightful poem!
    I love colorful potatoes. Subtle taste differences, but what fun to eat a bluish potato!


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