I fry the onions and think about death. It is April 2020. Around the world, so many people are suffering, dying, everyone enveloped by spectres and possibilities.
Standing before the stove, I lift my left hand to the swollen gland in my neck, and I hear the click in my mind. Is this …?
It soothes me to watch the small pieces of onion sizzle and shrivel in oil. A delightful crackle wanders into my eardrums and pushes out the other noise around me, of kids clamouring and husband tidying …
Bio:
Wanda Praamsma is a poet and writer based in Kingston, Ontario. Her first book of poetry, a thin line between, was published by Book*hug in 2014, and her chapbook, aversions // nothing special, was published by above/ground press in 2022. Her poems have appeared in periodicities, Ottawater, eleven eleven, Lemon Hound, and the Feathertale Review, and non-fiction pieces have appeared in the Toronto Star.