Ode to a Yellow Onion

And what if I had simply passed you by,

your false skins gathering light in a basket,

those skins of unpolished copper,

would you have lived more greatly?

Now you are free of that metallic coating,

a broken hull of parchment,

the dried petals of a lily—

those who have not loved you

will not know differently.

But you are green fading into yellow—

how deceptive you have been.

Once I played the cithara,

fingers chafing against each note.

Once I worked the loom,

cast the shuttle through the warp.

Once I scrubbed the tiles

deep in the tub of Alejandro.

Now I try to deciper you.

Beyond the village, within a cloud

of wild cacao and tamarind,

they chant your tale, how you,

most common of your kind,

make the great warrior-men cry

but a woman can unravel you.

Source: The Day Underneath the Day (TriQuarterly Books, 2001)