Onion

When I approached you as onion
bruised but somehow sweet
still somehow fresh
I wondered
how many layers to your core
so you told me the truth
but it wasn’t
so you told me the truth
but it wasn’t
so you told me the truth
and now
I stand inside of you
peering through rib cage as prison
wondering how much healing until I can get to the outside
and it’s not normal
that your stories became my burden
like father, and brother, and brother
and mother whom I rarely am able to look in the eye
I see how much her back has carried
and it’s not normal
and when you speak to me
I can only find truth so comical now
it is the only way to rattle these ribs
create enough space
make my escape
so I may once again approach onion
turn around as I find
it is not my job to peel, to chop, to cook
I am woman
but now so woman that I kneel before them
wrap scarves around their necks
as she told me so
that some men
just don’t know how to keep warm in cold seasons
but it is hard work
picking stiff joints from a ground that
has become to feel home
but it isn’t.