My mother has begun to talk about
her father, who died when she was 13
My father’s family was so poor
they didn’t eat lunch
Secrets draped in sheets, sealed
in the remotest rooms of a museum
In the afternoon, his mother told him
to stand in the yard and clean his teeth
with a toothpick
so obscure I once found a photo
and asked, Is this…?
so the neighbours would think
they’d just eaten
For full poem, check out our summer 2024 issue coming out in July 2024!