I brought home onion plants years ago
after admiring them in a friend’s garden, unaware
how like dandelions are these airy blooms, whispers
of white lifted on the breeze to land
far from where they began.
My friend died a decade ago, but I continue
to find still-green spikes poking up
among fall’s spent flowers and gently curse
her generosity. I pull them out
each year – they hold fast to the soil,
break off, roots stubborn as she was.
The pungent scent of onion lingers on my hands,
an homage to the bonds
of friendship that transcend this life.
—
Susan Carman is a former poetry co-editor for Kansas City Voices. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and essays have appeared in publications including Coal City Review, Catholic Digest, I-70 Review, Kalliope, and Imagination and Place. Her essay, “An Extra Helping of Grace,” received a national award from Penguin Press.
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