Appreciate her solely in relation to the onion.
Notice the glint as she slips the knife
from the sheath; accept that when she
sharpens the blade, the tone she covets
most is the scrape of steel on stone.

Concede that the onion conforms
to her wish. Tiny cubes, ample chunks,
perfect pearls, wedding rings,
chrysanthemums; she carves the lilies
to suit the mood – never the guest,
the dish or the food.

Recognize that when she settles
beside his tombstone cutting bulbs,
only she can be certain whether the onion
explains her tears or forces them.