May 12
"Mother Hunger"
like thunder, we hear before we see
my mother
keeps odd hours.
a night shift nurse with
a touch of divergence,
a touch of impulse.
when all is still, she stirs a beat all her own
at times a lullaby, today a morning call.
cutting boards stained with cut greens, onion, peppeh.
knives dulled by the bones of poultry hardened in death.
in her aged cast iron, moody spells become hearty stews, plasas.
the din, like torrential rain, summons me from sleep.
i concede. my reluctant heart rumbles, hungry for mother’s love.
