Until Your Belly Gave Notice

edom-

running starved

hard footsteps coming

judgmental in front of stovetop.

Boy, younger, stands readily

holding a left-handed ladle

drowning in juices you did not

drag from behind in heated struggle.

No, your shied brother stiffened upper lip,

strayed not a question for right.

Firstborn. May I be? Spoken

hushed due to temperament.

Oh, the agony gnawing viciously

unseen, maybe unheard to the quiet tongued

child unimagined in my mind’s eye, as is your tummy.

Until you break-erupt: What time do I have for this?

Give me what I so crave! Downed lowered chin

comes salted broth, a flavoring dear brother

watches break animal resistance.

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