?

Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry


Paul Cézanne, "Still Life with Onions"

Peeling Onions

You loved to watch me undress
the onion, layer by layer.
Maybe it was me, removing your clothes
for the first time, or the children

we dreamed of under
too many layers of cloth.
You once said that for a small woman
I had a giant heart, like an ant

who had to be twice as strong
to carry a crumb on its back.
Have I been an ant building
a house destined to fall?

There are still things you don’t know,
that as a child I slept with a fear
of hurricanes sweeping away my house
and a fear of making someone lonely.

That some nights I slept surrounded
by elephants and lambs, dolls without eyes.
That somewhere part of me still lives
in the yellow kitchen

where I sautéed onions and peppers,
where you made eggs with garlic
mornings when salt was not enough,
where I sat on your knees

making names for unborn children.
That tonight I peeled onions,
and when I threw away their tiny jackets
everything inside me wept.

~ Dina Elenbogen

Tags:

Latest Month

September 2016
S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
252627282930 
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Teresa Jones