Linda Eve Diamond

Two Giant Onions

by Linda Eve Diamond  

   

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Two giant onions

sat quietly 

beside each other.

 

They seemed to be

in bad shape, not much

in common otherwise. 

 

Sure, they were both

onions, but different

colors, origins and tastes.

 

People passed over them

as they didn’t look crisp,

but soft, old and tired.

 

They sat together quietly,

in a long, breezy shadow,

on a quaint little bench.

 

(Did I mention that

they were in a park?)

Anyway…

 

After a while they seemed

to begin conversing, then

one began to tremble.

 

It appeared one onion

was trying to open up

as the other leaned in.

 

Then the layers began

to peel away, revealing

the shy hint of a smile.

 

Now both onions were

trembling—were they

laughing? Or crying?

 

Or both? They seemed

to be warming up, 

taking off some layers

 

revealing their eyes,

their ears, their mouths,

and their essential humanity. 

 

Now they’re touching,

holding hands, walking

toward another onion… 

 

approaching me gently,


asking if I’d like to talk,

offering to listen… 

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