Laboring in the tiny cape cod kitchen

Sliced eggplant soaking up vegetable oil

As she fries the black skin

Layering with marinara and ricotta cheese

Her artistic starved hands build

The aromatic pleasured casserole

Moisture oozes from the tomatoes

The crispy top flourishes abstract design

Baking away my father’s hidden cancer

Hoping his diabetic needle gives him eating freedom

Squeezing us into the Formica table

Locked into place

Where chairs scrape against the plywood walls

The soggy Long Island air pulls our sweat

Never use the dining room

She passed the rigid control baton to me

Stomach expands so I loosen my belt

Unzip my pants

I can breathe

Allow my Mom’s cooking to bring her back to life.