Home grown vegetables keep landing in the kitchen in a delightful, steady stream. The latest to join the queue is a giant onion, weighing in at 3 lbs. It is so beautiful, I can’t bear to cut it and have simply been contemplating it, placing it next to “normal” onions (which are not small) to give a sense of the scale of the thing in this photo:
Contemplation leads to musing, musing in this case jogged my memory and I remembered that I had once – many years ago – written a sonnet comparing myself to an onion, in protest at the over-analytical mind of a friend who I felt was destroying me by too much probing. I haven’t posted any poems for a while, so here it is.
You, who want to know and understand me,
Who yearn to scan my heart and sound my soul,
Who want to raise the mask I wear and see
What lies beneath, who study every role
I play through life, who want to find the key:
You analyse the parts and lose the whole:
For I am like an onion. You can peel off
Layer after layer; there’s no core.
You destroy as you dissect what you are seeking,
The essence you would isolate and seal off
Evaporates: the onion’s no more
Than silver strips, and yet the air is reeking.
Perhaps in your dissection you will keep
A record of the fact: it made you weep