Poi

Every night, Mama would say, "No talk stink- the poi going get rotten". So I held my tongue about sister, Papa stopped talking about the job, and we ate. Dinners started quiet, but ended with laughter; her admonition clearing away the day. Then came the shortage: taro and construction. Dinners became moody. I went to college and learned about the recession. I ate instant potatoes alone letting the dishes pile up, till the smell drove my roommate out. No calling home, I was rotten. Once I craved poi, but the market only had day-old, too sour to hold down.