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Photo by Robin Stickel on Unsplash

When I worked at my dad’s restaurant,
my hands smelled like onions,
my hair smelled like onions,
my sweat smelled like onions,
such a tart, burning odor,
it kept me awake at night.

The world seemed smeared with a coat of grease,
smudged around the edges, dingy brown,
even after two…




Together We Grow in Poetry

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Jay Sizemore

Jay Sizemore

Provocative truth teller, author of 19 poetry collections. Cat dad. Dog dad. Currently working from Portland, Oregon. Learn more at:

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