Poetry
on holidays in the small box
kitchen i stood at hip-height
to my mother who sliced fat scallions
for ackee with the fury of a Black woman
who had taken the wrong man’s
seed. i watched as she pressed dough
into the heartwood of her hands
into the hands where it sometimes stuck like
the seed i was when i stuck
to the lining and trapped her. she bloomed
black pepper in oil until tomatoes burst
from heat of her aching womb, until the cod weeped
its salt into the aching fruit
that ripens to look a little like eggs
nicole fellah is a writer and editor based in Venice, California. She earned a multidisciplinary Master of Professional Writing at the University of Southern California, where, as a graduate assistant lecturer, she taught Writing and Critical Reasoning. She will attend Tin House Summer Workshop in 2025.