Onions at the Market

Onions hang in the farmer’s market.
A painterly mix of light and dark,
a casual masterpiece.
For just a moment, everything stops

and there is only this.

It will not last of course.
You are surrounded by the locals
and sooner or later, these onions
will find their way to someone’s kitchen.

But now. Just now, you live in a place of silence,
of unexpected perfection, just
you and the beauty, transcending
the world you live in.

We were not meant for noise.
It deafens us. Blinds us.
and the world we are meant to live in
gets lost.

And so for a moment, you stand
and soak in the perfection of fresh onions hanging.
You lose yourself in them.
You find yourself in them.

About this poem

I love farmer’s markets. Not so much because I am a foodie in search of the next great meal, but just because they are so often, beautiful.

The picture was taken in Venice, Italy. If you are ever there, their market is on Thursdays and it’s magnificent.

Tom