Naomi Shihab Nye, contemporary poet wrote:
“When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peelings on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way the knife enters onion,
and onion falls apart on chopping block,
a history revealed.
And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at meal, we sit to eat
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of the onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
“I tell you the truth just as you did it for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did it for me.” Jesus