tears burn slowly grief an onion peeled white tears burn slowly an onion is grief peeled tears   burn slowly grief an onion peeled the grief was in the peeling the grief was in the peeling the outline of things, trees, people the lines of a face a tree branch

grief once you caught a whiff of it
once she     caught the smell of it on her
fingers     once she caught the   smell of   it on
her fingers   she   had   to peel it all theway through
to the bone
the   moon is circular cut down to your throat
the moon
like a small fire     inside your skin     onions
she thought about armour
she thought of a suit of onion skin armour she thought about shields that make you cry
she thought about weapons to take away all your defenses
onions she thought about weapons to make you cry
she thought about bells that rolled and rang she thought about biting into the moon
green     fumes   smoke uptrails   warm scratches
a small fire
the bell that rang at the center of everything

im taking a trip from this city from this miserable city im taking my passport to another place a city where you dont have to pay to eat...im taking a trip im going to another city a place where medicine is free im taking a trip where you dont have to pay to go to school im taking a trip im going to a different city where knowledge is free, im taking a trip im going to another city

the circles around us
onion skins in layers of light like peeling holes
or tearing into the rings of the universe

On the train
night flowers
resignation opens
on the workers faces going home. The passengers rocking as they are carried continuously to the next day. To the nodding heads if only I could offer you something. If only we could save ourselves by peeling back grief to its core like a frozen flower. If only we could tear into its glacial center just to feel that burn. To remind ourselves that we are all still capable of something close to a miracle. If only

-- Karen Sorenson

Video still from The Lament of the Onion Cutter
(Swallowing Seeds) by Theresa Sofianos