kugelis (2026)

my father’s side

is particular

about potatoes.

my grandmother could peel one

in a continuous ribbon.

she knew what to do

with the skins

when no one was looking.

there are circumstances

in which this constitutes

a serious offense.

i am less economical.

my knife takes an eye,

then a generous portion

of surrounding tissue.

there is some disagreement

about what constitutes waste.

the grater has four sides,

each with its own theory

of improvement.

i have tried three.

the finest teeth produce

something almost indistinguishable

from liquid.

left to itself,

the pulp becomes pink.

this is a natural reaction

to exposure.

nothing has been added.

nothing is technically bleeding.

i consider the cross-section.

the specimen has become

difficult to distinguish

from its findings.

this is how i create.

what remains of the structure

is caught in the apparatus.

i am instructed to squeeze

until nothing more comes out.

the onions have begun

their customary performance.

an egg is introduced

to encourage cohesion.

salt is added

without consulting anyone.

at 400 degrees

my slosh develops

a respectable exterior.

i stand at the sink

all pink

with peels in hand.

it seems extravagant

to throw them away.