Peeling Onions – Adrienne Rich
Only to have a grief equal to all these tears! There’s not a sob in my chest. Dry-hearted as Peer Gynt I pare away, no hero, merely a cook. Crying was labor, once when I’d good cause. Walking, I felt my eyes like wounds raw in my head, so postal-clerks, I thought, must stare. A dog’s look, a cat’s, burnt to my…