perfectly slivered almonds 

there is a person 
whose only job is to 
cut almonds into careful perfect slivers
& pour them into packets 
for the baking section. his father
did this job as well & everyone
in his family is especially good
at gripping the brown surface
of the almond & holding it still.
i tried to sliver almonds 
for a recipe but instead 
slivered the side of my thumb
& i thought about this man,
wishing i knew him 
so he could arrive &
fix my whole almonds. hold
almonds hover in my kitchen
like thick flies or apostrophes.
i don't eat almonds but if i did
this would be convenient.
if i practice hard enough
i could probably be the man
who cuts almonds into slivers.
the truth is that no matter
what recipe you start making
you'll always be missing some
ingredient. i have such
a hard time crying anymore,
though i'm not sure if that's
do to age or the hormones. no eggs in 
the house-- i smash almonds 
with the back of a knife
until their tiny yolks 
start to ooze. in the cupboard
in my parent's house
we had different jars 
of nuts & sometimes
i would take just one
salted almond & suck 
on it till all the salt
was off & it was just 
that hard droplet shape.
maybe i would have an easier time
crying if my tears didn't 
have to come out as almonds--
budding from the corners
of my eyes-- that man
is working somewhere with his 
perfect knife with his perfect
technique--those perfect slivered
almonds. i can't find
the recipe on my phone.
i'm not sure what i wanted 
to make i was just baking to
get rid of some time.
time is also hovering
in the kitchen alongside
the almonds only time 
makes a louder buzzing sound.
time & almonds are probably
the same species.
if i met him, the man who 
slivers almonds, i would tell
him that i want that most days
i want that same kind
of purpose. i want to ask
him how he knew he would
be happy completing one task
over & over. maybe he'll say
he's not happy. he's not
allowed to be not happy.
i have to believe the man 
who cuts the almonds is
full of joy-- is euphoric 
each time he presses down 
his knife. maybe he'll say 
he thinks of men like me
who can't cut almonds--
who are actually haunted 
by them. there's something
in the oven i don't remember
making. i'm scared i burned it
with all this crying--
but no it was just
a tray of almonds--
lightly toasting.