when I steam brown rice
I remember you in the smell
when I peel purple onions
I hold a wooden matchstick
between my teeth
you told me it would
keep away the tears
when I mince red chiles
when I crush cloves
of garlic I remember
when I still thought
I knew who you were
when I pound plum tomatoes
with my fist I remember
that you showed me how
to make salsa fra diavolo
you taught me to feel
the satisfaction as the peppers
burn my throat