The Onion by Ejiro Elizabeth Edward

______forces me to mourn its death while laughter spills out of my mouth cascading over,

this is what pent up grief looks like:

drinking espresso the morning after I wrap my mother’s body in a white cloth, placing her into a casket,

My hands are brisk , eager to the task,

death allowing for certainty & I am grateful her pain is over,

whispering ; “it is finished”,

Like Christ’s body, emptying on the wooden cross.

I am holding loss as an inheritance.

A year after, the house becomes an empty sky

& mother’s memory scatters around like a collage,

While cutting a bulb,

it reveals new skin like a chameleon camouflaging to suit its mood,

& I imagine mother’s body,

camouflaging into dust, camouflaging into vegetables, camouflaging into onions.

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Ejiro Elizabeth Edward is a female writer from Nigeria. She is a recipient of the SBMEN fellowship. She has been published in Down River road, Icefloe press, Feral, Poetry column and many others . She loves to dance and travel when she’s not busy trying to look for her friends trouble. Find her on Twitter: @Ejiroedward552