My Mother's Kitchen

Outside the kitchen door,
crabs linger their final hours
in tubs of water and seaweed.

My mother is swearing
into the oven - something has
gone wrong - something she has forgotten may ruin everything.

The men are in my father's shop, smoking cigars,
stirring raisins into crocks of sake,
their latest exploding experiment
in the brewing of homemade beverages.

Sue comes in the back door laughing,
pours my mother another glass of
cheap red wine, "Let me do that,"
and takes over the garlic bread.

This leaves my mother free to fetch the crabs, throw them in the boiling water.
Claws scrape against stainless steel -
she watches with flushed face
their mechanical attempts
to escape her culinary rage.

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