Bliss; as in, domestic

The fireplace is content to stain, darken.
Tuneful cradling
from the record player, this time
of "flowers bending in the rainfall."
Dad- "I like that song!"
volume up.

Misting lamp glow-
amber sheen sticking like pine resin
to the walls, to the curtains,
crisp dusk sun
falls like drooping eyelids
that cannot elude sleep.

jazz from the kitchen,
the timer: tick-tick-tick-
endless wheel, but only
one hour.
Mom wants me,
"See how I can cook without even tasting?"

Chop, drip; warm as oil,
her hands, molding the piece before her
earthy tanned savory turmeric
and moist rice clumps
slabs of gold
cracked rooster plates and cerulean earthenware.

I depend on feathery always-mom hands-
hair smells like wet honey and rain
"Maryam-joon, time to eat."

Record is off
curtains are drawn
television whispers
scuttle closer
gather all
and listen:
scraping, sighing, slurping, starving.

Bliss; as in, domestic
in this instance.