Anxiety-rendered fingers
picked raw,
massaging shreds of cabbage
until they give way,
turning limp and swampy.
Sea salt, spices,
acrid sliced garlic and onion
bite at my flesh,
but I continue
until my hands are tingling
and no longer feel like my own.
Grabbing fistfuls,
I tamp it in scalding jars,
smashing with hands balled tight.
This is the only way I can feed you my pain
and turn it into something nourishing.