Wild Onion
wild onion savory, as she breaks up
lumps in the brown, cold, soil
tall and fleshy with bladed leaves
spiked up toward the sky and flowers
of pink or white or yellow. Her delicacy
is raw and you don’t have to care for
her since her harsh voice is roasted at
the core, but she invades your heart as
she spoils. Dishonored, you await her
death and rake through the foliage. Now
upended she passes through a sieve and
ends up in a trash can weighed in a barrel.
There is nothing to do but let her live
in the wild where she was meant.
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