"It was early in your second marriage,
when his violence was a yeast just beginning

to feed on your sweetness."

from today's poem "Polaroid of My Mother" by Cindy Stewart-Rinier.

Polaroid of My Mother

There you are in your coral-colored pantsuit,

1972, though your spray-stiffened hair holds

something of a ’60s Sophia Loren glamour

as you knead the bread dough from which

your eyes have momentarily risen.

Your mouth is a candid startle, slightly open,

perhaps on its way to Don’t or No, deflection

your reflex. It was early in your second marriage,

when his violence was a yeast just beginning

to feed on your sweetness.

I studied the way you leveraged weight

into the heels of your palms, pushed the pale belly

of dough into itself and away in a rhythm

of roll, fold, turn, roll, fold, turn, movement

and reposition a pattern, a practice.

I’ve never forgotten what you said that day,

long after the camera came down to hang slack

by its strap at my side. I wanted to know if you

were all right in the aftermath of your latest fight

with my step-father.

You lifted the tea towel from the top of the bowl,

smiled, and punched down the doubled dough.

The madder you are, you said,

the better the bread, as the air escaped

like a thousand exhalations.

* * * * *

A slightly different version of "Polaroid of my Mother” first appeared in the Summer 2013 edition of VoiceCatcher; in the1/15 Sunday Poetry Feature of Women’s Voices for Change; and in the VoiceCatcher Tenth Anniversary Anthology, She Holds the Face of the World, published in 2015.