Onion

The way I cut an onion is so easy. I am sure I will have another one. I waste more

than my dad would have let me—the slimy skin, the shaved layers,

the tapered crown right below the dirt.

It took so long to peel onions when I was younger. Each skin

under his watchful blue eye, open as God

or the center of a green root.

Now I cut onions with my eyes closed. If my finger ends

up in the soup, so be it. I trust my body.

There’s enough to go around.

Eileen Winn is a non-binary poet and author from Ohio currently earning their MFA from Florida Atlantic University while working on the editorial boards of Swamp Ape Review and Alien Literary Magazine. You can find their work in the 2020 Sundress Anthology Best of the Net, The Shore, The Racket, in the “Breakup Book” anthology from Purpled Palm Press, and more. Without purple pens, much of their work would not exist.