My falling tears are onion skins
Flaking in the day
I cry
The smell carries old socks worn with purpose
As Uncle Tom chuckles at my state
I hide my face and begin the fade
All the while immersed in this strange place
They call it Florida
I call it death and disgrace
I hear the chatter the next room over
of how wrong I had been and how different I seem
But I can’t gather my eyes enough to look at the sun
Where will I scurry away?
They are all so invested in this display
It’s as if they tore my limbs straight from my heart and wonder aghast at my frown
I scream and they continue
Poking and prodding my feelings
as a cadaver on the morgue gurney
I cry flaking in the day
My tears are onion skins crepe, soft and plentiful
C. Churchill
There is so much to think about with this poem. I was startled by the first line and the direct association of the onion _skins_ (not the onion flesh) as the part that evokes tears. I am still puzzling over the smell of old socks and how it all fits together, but I found this all very powerful.