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.

~