child by the stove written by kat chua
The grandmother sings next to the marvelous stove And the child draws another inscrutable house. She sings the songs of lecture Guilt ridden Gossipy-manipulative. The child draws Her on a pedestal Like the statue of liberty. That grandmother, my grandmother Stewed scents of memories Forgotten by choice By circumstance. I am a child who knows No better. With every pot and pan Every Stir and sip My grandmother tells made-up tales Of how she'd like me to Remember the scents of my own Memories forgotten. All that I heard in the kitchen, Every taste had in that kitchen, My grandmother's kitchen, Although I believed With instinct that they were lies, I believed them. I had to. I believed her, How could I not? She is your grandmother, who sings by the stove. Right, she is my grandmother. Her word is law. Her word is God. She is infallible. I learned. I wore. I ate. I drew. I swallowed. This lie. Until I saw, I felt, I smelled, I heard, I hurt, I broke (shattered), I can no longer Differentiate between the truth and the untruth. I am no longer a child. My houses are no longer inscrutable.
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