Onion Eater: Film Clips in Archive

At the city dump,
this oily mist makes the day dark as the night that will come soon as they dig for that last rotten fig or the wormy apple or a maggoty bone.
Their kids are most active; diving here & losing their footing & sliding in the slime & grunge & carrying
off the prized pieces of gristle & sinew & fat.
It seems like underground. The drifter comes to her for solace & a kiss & she turns away & looks to the floor where a roach scurries & now
he goes to the man who scratches his leg & bleeds & scratches his face & bleeds & scratches his arm & his neck & leers at her but will not speak to him & . . . &
at the shore
it’s another who’s come to lay out her eggs – all two thousand – cracked, one at a time, until the beach is full & swimming in eggs &
the tide rises & sweeps away the first row & back they come & the second & the third goes out & back & all two thousand yolks & the tide rises & . . . &
she eats her onion,
gnawing through its pale skin, gnawing the bitter & the sweet, the juicy & the sparse & as she gnaws she drools & bites the air &
tells the story of being herself & the large size of her breasts & the too large size of her ass & the size of her long nose without complaint &
whatever she needs she will have & as she gnaws she talks of what is expected & how & what she will not & spits & bites the air & eats . . .& now the eggs are whipped in the waves & go on to the next life without a life to live & so they will lie in the froth & foam & bear witness &
the garbage mound is rank & the garbage mound is rancid & the harvesters shuffle to the beat of their hunger & their fallen pride & dig & sort & . . . &
even now, no one will speak out & no one will touch the other & the onion eater sneers & the onion eater jokes & she is not afraid & will eat another & bites the air & grins.