A hearty bulb, I proudly stand
without apology. Your tears
are all the notice I command —
regard my scents as souvenirs.
I could have been a cauliflower
or purple cabbage just as well,
but tenderly, I hold a power
in secrets only I can tell.
For though I live and grow inside
a delicate, transparent skin,
you’ll never hear my breed described
as wishy-washy, weak or dim.
Through layers of protection as
incisors snap in search of meat,
the connoisseur will find pizzazz
in me, a zesty bittersweet.
1996 Mary Boren