Every Feeling Has a Secret Pocket

I grew up tensing for the sound 
       of voices hurled at closed doors,

butter knives falling to the floor
       then a thick yellow silence 

followed by someone picking out
       notes for Wooden Heart on the up-

right piano, as if nothing ever
       happened. When my children 

are upset they cry The problem is no one
       in this family knows how to talk!

But who knowingly plans for such things
       to happen? A rooster's trumpet

is so red it carves itself a hollow on a bed
       of rice: extra shaved ginger, extra

garlic, lashings of fish sauce. Rock salt 
       rubbed into every fold. Every time

death took one of us we wore black for a year. 
       It meant grieving, and also fashion.

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