Parsley

A bundle of parsley
fresh from wet soil
She clips off the root
carefully washes every leaf
every stem
the mud trapped in the vein
a hundred of them
she tirelessly cleanses under
trickling stream
turning muddy down the drain

her children seated across the table
turned away by soiled green
refusing to eat
she finishes them all by herself
one at a time
the way they are cleaned
a hundred times
that night
her fingertips lingering with the smell of parsley
gently brush over their soft hair
as she sings them to sleep