She chops the cloves
she will not eat,
Head bent, hand clenched
around the knife.
Slice slice slice – pause –
Slide, dice, pile – neat,
Blade scrapes garlic
to iron pan.
Oil sizzles pops jumps –
Tiny burns
on slender arms.
Return to chopping,
Ignore the heat!
On to peppers,
Orange and green,
plump onions,
tearful violet red.
Her blurry eyes,
quick forearm motion:
up down up down
to break the skins.
Ignore the tears,
brought not by onions.
And numb the burns
Of anger still.
Making mindless
Kitchen matter
For naked lover
on the couch.
For all her chopping,
Slicing stillness,
She cannot break
His hardened skin.
writingringlets 
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