the yellow linoleum

i'm making soup. i have a turnip and a dull knife. i stand at the formica counter. i press the blade into the dirty skin. i have to put my whole weight on the handle. the metal gets stuck in the hard white center. i lean down. my elbow clicks. the knife twists in my sweaty palm. it slips off the root. it slices the knuckle of my left thumb. a drop of blood wells up. the turnip rolls off the edge. it rests on the yellow linoleum.