This cereal I stir \u2014
\na mistaken market buy \u2014
\nthe kind she cooked.
\nSilk milk swirls, stove light
\nglows gold and ice blue
\non waves the sheen of new
\nsnow. With heat beneath,
\na sweet smell rises. Foam
\nbreaks out as alabaster
\ngrains mix to thick<\/p>\n
drifting memories. I saw you,
\nflirting flapper, in the tarnished
\nsilver frame. You were the eldest,
\nleft coveted classes to help when
\nyour father could no longer climb
\ninto that bituminous pit. I saw
\nyou sublimely posed,
\nin another frame beside
\nyour white-trousered groom.
\nYou combed my snarled curls
\nso hard, would not let me keep
\nthe kitten. Afraid of gas left
\nburning, or that I might fall.
\nYou wrung clothes with the old
\nMaytag after work \u2014 Third Floor,
\nLadies Sportswear, Better Dresses \u2014
\nin the cellar, in the night.
\nYou washed stains<\/p>\n
of my pubescent embarrassment,
\nsaid when sex was best,
\nthought yourself big boned,
\nbecame bent, shrunk. That night
\nyou woke in fright…
\nIt\u2019s OK, it\u2019s me…I\u2019m your daughter.
\nYou, who could play a saxophone,
\nbalance books, stretch a ground beef
\npound, like loaves and fishes. Here now…
\ncooking cream of wheat.<\/p>\n
\u2015 appeared in The Coacella Review<\/em>, March 2010<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"