the war room
the bomb was dropped
at dinner
feta lingering between my teeth and tongue
never learned to love it
expanding in my chest
this hot presence
somehow managing to remove myself from me
leaving her a shell

        simple statistics
        they tell you one in three will have it
        and you barely believe
        until your mothers turn inside out
        or your sisters
        and you know

remember being seven
maybe younger…
watching it on the tv
sneak-peeked it
foreign and familiar
something lascivious and lingering
black pleather and podiums
spreading warmth and something
aching

the bomb sat between us on the table
my mother’s bomb
words turned into something palpable
larger than that wooden expanse
star space spread and separating
twisting her away

back to that mushroom cloud
the heat of a nuclear reaction
near my nucleus

i am cowardly of truth
so i washed the feta from my teeth
and smiled