Manos: A Slice of My Memories (a blackout poem)

Christmas was sheer terror.

Every year as dark descended,
my mother appeared —

ghastly hands

perched at the end of the table
ancient twins—

A slice of fixed mistrust.

Father an assortment of minced medieval love
began to gradually disappear

leaving only the pale facsimile
that ruled the table.

Both preferred the ceremonial toss
of adorned excess —

hurtling onward, tied to our past
and to strange bonds.

What I’m Reading:

I am afraid to name everything

this year has taken
afraid there will be more

—Safia Elhillo / “Bass Lake” / The New Yorker