Spaghetti With my Mother's Angel

Ⅰ. lemon residue clings to puckered lips, and laughter bubbles up with sticky pasta noodles bound Together. You cradle my hand to stir our homemade pasta sauce. “Don’t stop stirring,” add extra oregano and bite down hard on pale bread so onions don’t make me cry. Peel back fragile layers, mince mushrooms and crush ripened tomatoes with bare hands, no matter how tired cold interior spilling down my arms hues of pinks, and vermillion chunks-- Fresher the food the better. thin thumbprints press against raw meat You show me gentle strokes, how to caress raw skin. I grate small blocks of cheddar accidentally shed a little blood sanguine and gold make a tie-dye explosion You rinse the cheese under cool water. “Be careful baby.” wrap minor wound with a kiss. “Wash your hands when you enter a kitchen.” Remove your layers. White plates set mounted with an hour of Dedicated teaching hands with forks diving into creamy pasta Sitting across from my mother, My teeth sink into the prime taste of success. Ⅱ. Boiling pot sears my hand and I clench jaws tight. decompressing tooth enamel so thick clusters of sea salt tears don’t fall. Your replacement glares at me over thin rimmed glasses. “Toughen up.” I swallow tablespoons of pain, lodged down icy chunks, Kiss throbbing hand and rinse in cool water. take dried noodles and break bunches with burnt hands. I let small fragments shoot in different directions and throw them in bubbling pot. Now I sit with family of six deflated stomach-- appetite Missing, hiding under artificial spaghetti dinner. canned tomato sauce and packaged Vegetables dance a vicious tango on tongue. I force down her satisfaction.