Wild Onion

wild onion savory, as she breaks up lumps in the brown, cold, soil tall and fleshy with bladed leaves spiked up toward the sky and flowers of pink or white or yellow. Her delicacy is raw and you don’t have to care for her since her harsh voice is roasted at the core, but she invades your heart as she spoils. Dishonored, you await her death and rake through the foliage. Now upended she passes through a sieve and ends up in a trash can weighed in a barrel. There is nothing to do but let her live in the wild where she was meant.