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Compare...Personification: POTATO ** Another dawn, another day. I'm up: what a short night. Dressed, I stand in the kitchen, a potato in my hand, preparing to fry myself an omelet. Half awake, I wonder at the complacency of the potato. I'm sure it knows I'm going to eat it. Can't it see the eggs waiting to be cracked, the oil jumping in anticipation as I turn up the heat? Can not the poor vegetable feel the knife tearing into its skin, gauging out its eyes, as I slice and dice and prepare for a feast of vegetable homicide? Or is it a fruit? But, you shout, it's not alive! Ah. But it is. Does it not grow? Is it not now preparing to die? Is this not the cycle of a living being? And yet it sheds not a tear. It doesn't cry out or struggle against me. I wonder does it have a mother? Is it yet a child or does it have one of its own? Does it have a sister or brother who'll mourn its passing? I put down the potato. It's too early for this. I hold an egg over the frying pan. Then stop my falling arm and wonder ... Writing Index page