I Am an Onion

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
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