Onion Girl
Life yanks me from sleep to waking,
shaking slumber like dirt.
I want the ground. I want the cool earth
gathered around me like a blanket.
Soil brings the richness of dreams.
This basket confines.
Here I chafe the dry skin of onions.
No rest. No rest.
Now cut, sliced, and waiting for use, I lose myself
to purpose defined by somebody else.
shaking slumber like dirt.
I want the ground. I want the cool earth
gathered around me like a blanket.
Soil brings the richness of dreams.
This basket confines.
Here I chafe the dry skin of onions.
No rest. No rest.
Now cut, sliced, and waiting for use, I lose myself
to purpose defined by somebody else.
posted by Heather O'Neill | 7.12.05
4 Comments:
Good idea. I reckon you could develop this one, and bring out more the connections/contrasts between the soil and the onions. I also thought the first line was weak.
But the poem is intriguing, and it has that elusive, mysterious quality that makes a reader take notice. Keep going.
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Thank you for the suggestions, Rob.
Your feedback is really helpful to me. It also came at just the right time. I wasn't sure what I thought of the poem, and was about to zap it.
I posted this one at one other site, and received a similar comment about the first line. I'll have to work on a a better way to open the poem.
Thanks again.
I meant to ask a while back how you named your site. Isn't a Bougainvillea subtropic or even tropicical. Any special significance to you?
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