by Amritha York

here comes ma’s kitchen spread corner to corner on khameer sliced bread to
scoop us up her breasts brimming with milk and jaggery.

serenading aloud in the kitchen like lata, songs of rose and cloves, and our
spirits leaven with the dough. her marble quavers with spice

beneath this weight of feast. we evaporate around it, mouths unfasten,
begging to be fed, and with a turn of her singing bowl.

pistachios leave whole and fulsome into a bowl of cream. every dollop
whispers love, love. from the pleats of her embroidered sari.

feeding us rice pudding, halvas, mangoes and fresh roti, all the reassurances
we crave ma envelops cold hands with her own

collar into a determined heart where we are lulled by its subdued beat,
dreaming dreams to fatten on. the real flavor, we know, is her.

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Amritha York is a Torontonian queer, East Indian who works as an RN, new mother, & gender fluid woman. She writes about her experiences of trauma, child loss, identity, mental health & addiction recovery. She has worked with Canadian Legion and in social action projects through Gardiner Ceramic Museum and YWCA. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Libre Lit, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fruitslice, Kintsugi, and Only Poems, as Poet of the Week. Find her at IG:@first.breath.release.