
October Onion His life is in the dreaming vegetable; Months of rain, sun, and moon. In the dank cellar he cans his onions and seals in the seasons. Breathing gym-like air, he stews flabby, pungent late tomatoes, and suns the yellowed skins soft to score and peel easy with a knife. In the late afternoon he picks the last October onion remembering a faint kiss he once tasted on a girl's tear trailed cheek, a kitchen window pierced by sunlight falling on the necks of canning jars, and foil-wrapped potatoes baked beneath a fire [...]