(to my mother-in-law)
“Me take lunch? I’d rather teach!” I’d say.
So always Friday after school I knew
you'd keep a plate for me. Of course it would
be greens and rice, your favorite, kept aside.
You'd mock yourself: “It’s just the same old stuff
spiced up today; in fact, most days this week.”
Some days I’d find you’d shared my plate with friends
and knew the one you served me was your own.
When I cook greens it's with your guidance now.
The leaves shout out to me from market stalls.
Your hands on mine (yours were so fine and small!)
compel—they tell me “Pour!” and when to stop.
You proffered food to all who came by door
but I share mine with those who've gone before.