realizing: onions are multi-layered

she's flaking away, skin crisping
like overcooked chicken,
turning to ash, and she
brushes it away in clumps
like knocking snow off a car.

clump, clump, peeling away
flesh down to layers of muscle,
sinews shining like bright beacons.

stripping herself of her onion peel,
layer by layer dead and dry,
she opens new chapters of her story
with each careful slow drag.

first, a naive girl, stars
for boys in her mind.
she discards the evidence.

then she's a questioning
young lady, and the gents
are like quantum physics
(proof by proof they get
harder to comprehend).

the final layer, the muscle
underneath thinning skin,
a wise woman, knowing
that men are like seasons,
coming and going as they please,
and always leaving surprises in their wake.