GREEN ONIONS

by Ryn Gargulinski

When I chop
green onions I
think of you the
technique you learned in
cooking school about
peeling off the layers to get to
the good stuff nestled deep
inside – when I

said it wastes half the onion you asked
did I like such things that were
scratchy and bland – which is what

happened to our relationship we
stopped laughing stopped trusting you
pretended to have a job at some restaurant but just
hid around the corner as I took the

train to work – but some
fond stuff is still
nestled deep inside – in that
tasty plump core called
nostalgia.