Poem: Kitchen Onion

Kitchen Onion


Most days
There is a reason
For an onion
To rest close
To the sink.
In that space
Vegetables are limited,
To season a meal
Or to bring the cook
To attention.

Knocking the plate
Into the cooling toaster
My onion was sprouting;
Out of its skin
Shafts of green.
Steam from pots, water
From the dishes
Trickled the onion
To life.

The elephant
garlic next to the onion
stays dormant, skeletal white.

Is there a spot in the yard
The dog has not marked
So I may plant
This kitchen onion?

In late Summer I will
Call forth this plant
Like Lazarus, smelly
And bound.