An Onion on the Floor. A poem in three parts

There is an onion on the kitchen floor.

The toddler left it there.
After having dug it out of the pantry he presented it to me.

Only now, hours later, I realize he thought he had found a ball.
That is why he looked so proud.

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There is an onion on the kitchen floor.

The toddler left it there.
I picked up hundreds of other things off the floor today..
This onion is likely to remain for some time.

It is, after all, in the right room.


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There is an onion on the kitchen floor.

And something about this strikes me as poetic.
I find paper to scratch out these poems.
However, in the jar intended for pens there are only crayons, screwdrivers and  used birthday candles.

Trying to hold on to the poetry I am searching for a pen chanting, "there is an onion on the kitchen floor."