Cut the Onions

by Aimee Lowenstern

Cut the onions, make me cry.
I can taste it in the air,
you can taste it on my tears
when you kiss me.

Shuck the paper from my heart.
All I need is a little warmth
and I’ll caramelize.

Toss me around the pan, baby,
make me sizzle. Make me sweet.

I want to be at home on your lips,
want you to smile
around the taste of my name.

Every loop
of my fingerprint
falls silver on your skin.

You draw your knife
across the sharp scent of me.

Unwrap me from my body.
Go on, cut the onions.

Sometimes my weeping
means nothing at all.

Aimee Lowenstern

Aimee Lowenstern is a twenty two year old poet living in Nevada. She has cerebral palsy and is fond of glitter. Her work appears in Meow Meow Pow Pow Lit, Lunch Ticket, Hoxie George Review, AIPF, Claw & Blossom, The Ilanot Review, The Healing Muse, Sundog Lit, The Gateway Review, Soliloquies Anthology, Paragon Press, The Bookends Review, and DeLuge Literary and Arts Journal.