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84 Onion Growing circles inside circles the onion’s outer layer is papery, bristles and flakes under my hand. Cut in half it shows two owl eyes of tightened rims. Each stroke of the knife reveals them thinner and thinner pale and translucent of a ghost that can’t find sleep. Bulb of the earth, round and unsentimental splits into a tearjerker. Sliced on the board it disembodies its hundred eyes each loosening out another circle the smallest no bigger than my pupil. In the pan it reveals another character yellow and sugary, you stir it then sprinkled with flour the onion browns to an alloy tanned as copper a roux that brands its flavor deep in the meat and seasons the blackened cast iron. ...

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