these onions
are making
me cry, i tell
her, as i stand
in the kitchen
peeling and
cutting, dicing.
i've never
seen you cry
before she says,
dabbing my
cheeks from
the hot tears
that roll down.
i love a man
who can open his
heart and cry.
but i'm not
crying really,
i insist, look,
i'm cutting onions.
i'm making a stew.
white onions.
look at me chop
chop chop.
go ahead she
says, patting
me on the back.
get it out
of your system.
there is nothing
to be ashamed of.
i knew you had
a sensitive side
hidden in there
somewhere. a heart
beats in you
afterall.
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