FIRST —THE MOTHER OPENS HER THROAT
First—the mother opens her throat
and sings—in the midst
of the unraveling universe—
hands make hateful work of chores. A grace
in being done, finished, complete. For an hour
the mother forgets the fatted calf. Second—
the father turns up the song on the radio
a smear of red. Thick enough to feel
in concert, though he is alone. In Wisconsin,
everyone is abandoned. At home,
his attractive wife awaits. She
she left off the grocery list, tonight. The milk
sleeps in its bottle. The bananas nearly peel
companion she feeds. The meat, the meat.
I was looking at old recipes of my Grandma's (from [Indiana]) and thinking about food and origins and her and my Grandpa's lives around the time my father was born.