I push
   damp hair off my forehead.
Taste the sweat
   on my upper lip--
watch you
   standing
across the kitchen.

Your back tense,
the line of your shoulders
   hard, the
      -snap-
of eggs breaking between your hands
   angry.

   My voice, small
   through the thick silence-
   Mama.

But your head
   drops lower over your frying pan,
      silent.

You breathe in once-
   the air suddenly thick
   in my throat too, I
   see myself standing.
Running across the room
   to you and,
my arms around your waist,
melting your tight,
   furious shoulders
with a look, a word, something-

but
   my stomach tight
      one knee pulls itself under my chin,
and I sit still, listening
   to the heavy silence
   and the angry hiss
of eggs,
   frying.

     -Diana Guillermo 2-99