Elaine Reardon

They planted one field of onions the first spring.
The next year they planted more.
Earthy and fragrant, tender green swords broke earth.
Neighbors said we want to plant onions too.

The next year they planted more,
fields neatly tucked around the homes.
Neighbors said we want to plant onions too.
Onion fields grew, large and small, like a new kind of music on the radio.

Fields neatly tucked around the homes slipped
violets and cinquefoil around front yards.
Onion fields grew, large and small, like a new kind of music on the radio.
Sun warmed the damp earth, and stalks grew tall

Violets and cinquefoil around front yards,
color and courage, a bit of surprise.
Sun warmed earth and stalks grew tall
with phlox and daisies slipped in.

Color and courage, a bit of surprise,
earthy and fragrant, tender green swords breaking through the earth.
Phlox and daisies slipped in.
They planted one field of onions the first spring.