Old rhythms persist—
I wash, and she dries dishes
After meals turned silent
By stillborn thoughts.
I am a visitor in mother’s kitchen
Where clutter and restraint sit side by side,
Pots stored on stove burners,
Pans stacked neatly in the oven
While cups and bowls scatter
Across green linoleum counters.
With each visit, she lures me in deep
When she sets fresh ahi on the table,
Translucent slices shimmer in hot tea and rice,
Each gulp rushes the sea to our gullets
And promises a safe voyage and return.