Burnt offerings
from a mother dead
thirty years past
left smoking hot
on the stove top
in a dream confused
by vegetables wrapped
in stars
the sweet smell of meat
charred to sugar
potatoes sliced and crisped
arranged across the sky
amid the stars.
discovered after she
was ushered to the car
to begin her own journey
away from me
food left behind
to nurture a daughter
nearly blind
with grief for other mothers
and daughters, and self.
Ancient lessons taught
in the dead of night
of the power of burnt offerings
I had thought were hers
but in truth
are mine.
annarino writes 