hear it happen
here, it happens

happened to be here
it happened years ago

it’s happening here.

my onionskin peeling papers and pens
your oily hands reach too deep they
fill me with ink and love until my
onionheart bursts over the sink

now my little onioneyes see you, you’re more than me.
i’m just a crinkly little drawer dweller
smaller than your whole palm but
i know i have that smell it must bring tears to your eyes

the way i lay on my side as if
it’s next stop: rot
i won’t move i’m waiting for you to pick me up
peel me open

more and it hurts this time i’m exposed but that’s your business
you peel off the dead the things that are unusable and i know
i’ll thank you for it later even though now i get a chill

i feel too real and raw and i
i look but i can’t find a mark.

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