Sunday, August 28, 2016


I was seven when
I first saw my uncle
kick his pregnant wife, hard.
In the stomach.
It was Avurudu and
festive  times were upon us

Dropping him at his house
because he couldn't drive  on his own
Waiting in the car
until he made it through the door which
and his wife came
expressing disappointment
at his inebriation

My father swore
slipped out of the driver's seat
and pulled him off
my screaming aunt
and punched him in the face. He went flat
Bleeding from the nose.

He had been named
for  a notorious Italian dictator
and much was always blamed on that.

Inside the house,
the milk heated at the auspicious hour
had boiled over signifying abundance
and was still warm
in the pot.

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