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I Peel the Garlic

July 15, 2020




I Peel The Garlic


and think of skin

pale and open 

and wanting, like yours. 

Mine the color of cherries

languid and sea-varnished.

Its thin veneer heals

each night like Prometheus,

his eagle greets me again 

at dawn with a talon tear.


I peel the garlic

the static crackle

recalls your savage wail

roaring mythical 

like a beast 

cut down, chained 

and haunted your fire 

doused in grief,

even lemons can’t hide 

the coppery smell

the cindered flesh.


I peel the garlic

the papery petals scratch, 

tear like stridulous insects

cocoon casings upturned 

panicked paper boats        

uncertain of rescue.


             Garlic is an ancient and bulbous vegetable.

Allium flower sweet and seductive,

             It won’t grow separated for long.

leaves me leery of the deep roots.

Its lantern skin is

crawling with them.


I peel the garlic

make little knife wounds 

before sprinkling the salt.


This poem took first place in their poetry contest and was first published by The University of Houston's "Glass Mountain" journal, volume #24, spring, 2020.


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I Peel the Garlic

July 15, 2020

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July 15, 2020