the hidden

known for her cooking the consistent perfection of spring rolls evenly fried her secret to brush it with just a hint of apple juice to add some color give some flavor she is the mother of five a wife a widow it is easy to forget her strength in its subtlety she keeps it hidden like the smell of apple juice that reminds me of my family the eighteen days we spent on a tanker the sticky metal floors streaked with the vomit of children crying a pearl a day she removed from a string milky white marbles on an army issued blanket a make-shift playground that kept what was ours i would have to be good no crying no complaining it was mine to keep it was mine to lose being thirsty that i remember drinking juice from a can tomato apple a concoction of both my mother traded her red jade bracelet for a jar of water the kind you drank if you had money to buy if you spoke korean the kind that was plain without the taste of salt she said uống từ từ—drink it slowly i was given a third of this precious water the rest she saved     hid in a suitcase