She Means It

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Near the oven, Mom
holds my dad’s rifle

in his face, screams
she has had enough,

she can’t, not anymore, all this
food he keeps bringing into her kitchen:

the fish that need gutting – their eyes;
the crabs that need boiling – their smell;

the bouquets, the bouquets
of parsley – the hands

that chop, the days; all this
bread who needs it

white brown corn saj does he
have to try everything? All this

meat, this goddamn meat,
she yells, her freezer’s full,

no more room, no more.
She opens it, shows him

the ice has started to melt –
underneath, her heart.

grabs her heart,places it back
into her chest, announces

she’s leaving, this time
she means it.

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