Ode to the Smell of Onion

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Written by Renee Beauregard Lute

On my hands;
it is heaviest
the day after
I’ve cut
and
cooked
these skin-struck
pilgrims, nude
visitors
in my home,
on my table,
in the pores
of my hands.

Low and swollen
like the blindfish,
the smell
remains
a partner,
quietly
beneath fingernails,
a ghost,
the moon,
a secret.
It is what
we, who prepare
the food,
have in common.
These secrets
beneath
our fingernails, this
smell of onion.

The other foods
are temporary, the
unraveled squash,
pumpkins that have
been emptied. They
are consumed. They
conclude.
The onion, so
like the body,
is heavy with
remaining.

***

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Because I Said So

‘Because I Said So’ is a 200 words or less short piece related to a theme. To submit your own ‘BISS’, click on “submit a story” from the website.

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