The onion resists my painstaking pressure,
The heavy steel blade makes only a crease in the papery skin.

It tries to roll away and my fingers fly up in surrender.

Careful, careful, I think to myself.

“You’re more likely to cut yourself with a dull knife than a sharp one.” I’ve heard it a hundred times.

I poke through with the tip and let the blade slip into the path of the puncture.
Once it gets a foothold I’m home free. 

“A good sharpening is all it needs.”
And the tears begin to flow.