i wish i could write about flowers
wish i had a garden, or a thousand
eden, i'd name a few
and the rest, i'd name after you
it's a fact: i can't name gardens, you see
can't even name the flowers properly
i know only rose, lily, chrysanthemum and orchid- and yours
not a flower, but bearing leaves
in eden, i'd grow only onions
skin the largest gently, trying not to tear
count "she loves me, loves me not" in onion petals
parse the language of its layers
sometimes what was once fact leaves us only fiction
this hollow isn't us- not anymore, anyways
it's just an onion in our eden
a familiar thing of matter, skin, and stringy dna
i'm not hollow, if you peel away my skin
you'd see my heart, and bones, and viscera within
and your name, somehow, scrawled across it all
credits
from the garden,
released February 28, 2019
"onions" by maria wedin
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