Not Much of a Poem

Long ago, when the world
was younger,
my friend poured her feelings
into a poem.

It was about onions and people,
how both have layers, and
make you cry.
It wasn't much of a poem,
didn't even rhyme.

I didn't hurt her feelings
by saying so…
but by saying nothing at all,
and, later, with a no thank you
to her offer of a copy.

Why would I want one, when
it wasn't much of a poem?

Two decades later,
when I peel layers from an onion,
or a person,
and cry,
the words of her poem are there,
in my head, in my heart.

It was a very very good poem
after all.