Mother was blind.
I was mute.
A portly fly took a nosedive
into her pasta.
Her fork shoveled tomato lava over the swollen raisin.
Torn apart by acidity and convulsive, stabbing twists,
dark chocolate salt fertilized
the garlic, mushrooms, and basil.
Mother smiled at me, like a child
who will never know the truth.
– Jada Yee