one at a time.

my grandmother was a crystal dish
full of a gourmet jelly beans &
a tape player sobbing
opera--
she was the fist of an ash tray--
curled her hair like the blooms
of smoke coughed
from her mouth as she sat
in her blue arm chair--
the living room ate 
light from the porch with
a big soup ladle-- 
ONE AT A TIME
she'd snap when i reached
for her crystal dishes
of candies--
i was the kind of child
who chewed each day
in mouthfuls of
skittles & mismatched 
jelly beans--
i gnawed on the curtains--
broke off pieces of
the floor boards like tortilla chips--
NO
ONE AT A TIME
she'd repeat-- 
and i'd poured a 
few candies back into 
the dish from my hand--
again & again
until there was one 
black licorice jelly bean
remaining--
a seed to spark another
aloe plant like
the one she kept 
growing above her sink--
there is no patience in
a singular black jelly beans--
i learned
the kind of hunger you 
bury deep into the palms of
your hands-- 
the kind that grows brambles 
in your hair when you sleep--
my grandmother was the
worn handle of a wooden 
spoon-- a slap of garlic--
the spaces between loose teeth
when you try to chew more
jelly beans while
she's not looking--
sneak another & another
one by one by one by one
until the bowl is empty--
remember the seeds when you
feel like there's no piece of
you still pushing roots
into the carpet-- wash 
off the smell of cigarette ash
in the shower--
when we left from a visit my
grandmother climb immediately 
back into the photographs 
dangled on the walls--
hopped one by one by one
into black & white frames-- 
seated beside her mother
& her sister dressed
in ruffle bow & silk-- suitcases 
still packed from andali--
my grandmother was more than
an accordion coil of
smog or the gnarled limb
of an aloe plant--
my grandmother taught me a
kind of shame that echoes 
to me in the oracle of an empty bowl--
WELL YOU'RE GETTING FAT
she'd said when a ginger bread
cookie perched moments before
my lips--
i learn hesitation-- apprehension--
to break me bread 
ONE PIECE AT A TIME
until she stood-- shuffled 
into the kitchen 
to put a pot of warm milk on the
stove before bed--
with her back turned
i stuffed the entire
cookie man into my mouth--
chewed frantic like the coughing
bruise of an African Violet--
swallowed-- crumbs
on the glass end table--
crystal dish empty--
i wipe my mouth 
with my night gown sleeve--
& for the first time--
the food feels
hallow
& i feel FAT crawling
all over my skin 
dressed in spider legs 
& ash.