Mother Country Mother Country

Oh, Mother, you cast warmth— cardamom, cumin, cinnamon—across the metal of the pot, reflecting like your bony fingers against the makeup pan, your painted nails against the counter, your stony gaze against mine.

Oh, Mother: Step-Mother gave these gifts to you, generously. But she stole from you, too, didn’t she? She stole your livelihood, and you traded it for safety, opportunity, for a daughter. She handed it to your husband instead, and you were left shivering in the kitchen with baggage in your left hand and a swaddled baby in your right.

Oh, Mother! How can you bear it? I couldn’t imagine leaving as you did.

Leaving my Mother behind, for the cold of an empty kitchen, an empty home, an empty embrace.