but at least I didn’t burn los platanos for friendsgiving

the cooking oil leaped onto my hands

vacationing on my brown skin

sizzling tanning

relaxed in mockery to

my suffering

lounging amongst the

palm trees that are my veins

a kiss like a sting

so sharp i almost dropped

the spatula

so fast

–los platanos!

leaped in the air like acrobats almost flying

in a failed attempt to escape the stove’s heat

resenting my now

burnt knuckles

for diving them down

to their demise in my skillet

as much as the oil

smoldered on my knuckles

with indignation

I couldn’t help but smile

maybe it makes me a masochist

but I’ve never felt closer

to my mother

skinning her finger

peeling mangoes

chopping the vegetables

orchestrating dinner

nurturing

nourishing

even at the extent of our pain

it seems that

sacrifice

is all mujeres like us

know how to do.