There are a lot of asterisks
in my relationship with my mother
censored silences meant
to spare feelings
that clamor through
the space between us.
They roil in my gut
pitching
heaving
refusing
to be ignored
burn the back of my tongue
hot and sour
bitter shards of glass
when I swallow.
The fire spreads
to my cheeks and my ears
tremors carry its warmth
to twitching fingers
We collect corrosive words
with sharp edges
keep them tucked in cheeks
that will sting long after
we put our painted smiles away.
INSTANT NOODLES 