The Kitchen witness

~

 I learned about being a woman  in the kitchen
in front of the sink/below a windowsill of arranged glass bluebirds
my grandmother  she eats standing
after serving my wartorn grandfather
he yells over his shoulder for  Seconds!

 I learned about being a woman  in the kitchen
stirring Gazpacho soup,  my tia tells me
asi son los hombres/we gotta work with what we got
at eighteen she bargained out of unprotected rape
memorized his face  from her knees
peeling onions  I count
the sum of my own narrow escapes
too many
each stinging layer  a prayer:
may I  never bargin from my knees
may I  never trace with ice
the purpled edges of last night's slap.

 I learned about being a woman  in the kitchen
in front of the `fridge
my brilliant cousin/hospitalized anorexic  at 13
sprays fat-free
I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!  onto
low-carb
 no-glutten
  almost-bread
counting calories  the frontline trenches
in her daily battle towards  self-elimination.

 I learned about being a woman  in the kitchen
and I'm standing in this dingy vault
now heartbroken as
the haunted expert witness  to
my grandmother  and her silence
my 92 lb. cousin  /tubes in her arms
my tia  on her knees
mouth full of compromise
   I stand
struggling for an ample breath
relief or disclosure
facing my inheritance of shame  loss  & heartache
passed through generations  like a secret recipe
written across my belly  my rib cage   my breasts

 but the survivor strength of these  kitchen stories
got no time  for giving up
these women cast-iron strong
5 a.m. light through the open window  hopeful
holier than water  bread  or wine
...they whisper
get up  off the damn floor
fight back/learn to  love
this body
 this woman you've become.

~

Honeycomb of unrest

~

 Now deeply rooted
in this hardly noticeable soul are morbid vines.
They're the Setaria Viridis which grapple
this unlikely candidate from within...
similar to Queens' congestion
and its choking hold on my sensibility!
With exquisite crookedness
they'll dismember any perennial bounty,
Since, they're more than mere troublesome weeds
hindering the expanse of  esteem;
growing vertical and awry as they slowly strangle
  any wholehearted endeavor.

 Loquaciously, I speak of them
as they provoke even more trivial disputes,
causing this poet  to yield unsharpened skills
of disobedience and folly.
Possibly beyond this natural growth
in an unnatural setting...
There's a useful grindstone
and a harmless ol' persuasion
burrowing into solid ground
  ...as I  wish to lay upon newer foundations!

 Like a high maintenance  Honeycomb of unrest,
inside there's hollow chambers kept orderly
by drones with regard, rewarded with significance
 whilst repairing
   this hexagonal gravesite... named A.Z.

~