This Luscious Rice

In the dregs of despair, it was the words
Of my mother guiding my hand as I made
Rice in a steel pot, that stopped me
From ending it all.
Life is hard. They’ve said so
Since I was a kid, but you think, they don’t mean
Me, right? It’s always someone else.
Somewhere else. Somewhen else
Else      Else      Else
      Until      Its
               Me

In the Minnesota snow
Shoveling shit at 2 AM
Because it’s an excuse to smoke
And get some work done
At the same time
Or maybe I just like
How the stars look at night
Almost as if beauty were a thing
That really existed.

The cold bites into my fingers
And toes. The cigarette is finished.
I don’t have any left.
The box is empty. So, I slip
Inside. But here’s empty too.

I’m hungry and the only food
Is a handful of rice grains on the floor
Of the cabinet. I scoop them up
And wash them like my mother taught,
Not looking but feeling, as the rice
Tries to fight against the water. But until the rice
drowns, I keep pushing it down

Pushing it down. You push it down.
Until it’s clean. You hear?

Make sure the water only reaches till
The first slit of my index finger.
Cook it in the microwave
For 20 minutes. Then let it sit
For five more. Then it’s done.
Now eat.