Frederica’s Kitchen

Nici Beason

Frederica stoked

the kitchen hearth,

as cedar embers emblazoned

the veins in her hands.

She settled near the flames

and pacified her new-born girl.

Hash brownies baked, and she fell

asleep on Angel Dust.

The rocking chair creaked

as Frederica dreamed

she ran along the beach

flying a green kite.

High tides erased her tracks,

PCP-shells stabbed her feet.

Winds teased her hair,

swept her mind away.

She floated numb and drifted.

The waves grew calm.

Frederica stares as silence chills

the dead kitchen. The oven is cold.

Her mother raises the little one,

mourns golden years,

and searches for someone to blame.

She drinks coffee endlessly

and finds the answer

to her crossword puzzle:

"Mothers are heroines too."