Darkness growls around her,
as she perches on a low stool
in our desolate kitchen;
Sudden snaps of the hibiscus
In a flagrant display.
Hollow vessels litter the floor,
rocked by the evening wind.

He flounces in snarling
Like a boiling kettle,
Eyes bloodshot, teeth grimacing,
With a lashed-out tongue.
Explosive cracks of breaking feet
Stunned the stool under her.
Father sags on the floor
Like a bag emptied of onions,

Where is the food?
Echoes in the darkness,
A sing-along, endless memory
Written on tablets of blood,
Like desecrated monuments,
Like the wooing of the wind,
In a stormy night.
She falls off the stool,
Blinded by love.

My head shot through the window,
Guilt straddling my face, my heart,
Telling me it is a mirage,
This quest for harmony
Or peace, or brotherhood,
Whatever that brings calm to bones.
Father’s power is flecked with ire
Of an inner darkness
Of a mountain screaming in my soul.