As the child looks on

his mother pulls the linen
from the cord.
She flaps each sheet,
folds each vest.
Collars are starched,
skirts are dressed.
She is spit, she is steam,
her stare removes the creases.

As the child looks on,
his mother sifts a saucepan
of rice for stones.
Every grain is washed,
from the sink to the stove,
to the table, she carries.
She is fuel, she is steel,
her skin seared at the wrists.

As the child looks on,
his mother crushes chillies,
garlic and ginger.
She stirs in the oil, water
vinegar and seasons with salt.
As she turns her back
the child dips his finger
into the jar of chilli sauce.