Self-Portrait as My Mother's Turmeric Stained Hands by Eva Rami (14, Texas)

When orange hugs red in the horizon,
my mother twists her fingers around
the knob of our gas stove and sprinkles
minced garlic into popping oil.

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I bask in the pungent smell of sesame and ginger in the
Dinners my mother creates every evening
her hands moving rapidly across the stovetops,
dipping into cilantro then paprika and

Turmeric. She curls her fingers over
Thyme leaves and nutmeg bottles until her palms are
An abstract painting of spices and oils.
She allows the
Turmeric to spill over, mottling

Her fingers, through the creases and indents of
her palms, flowing rivers of fine yellow
Under her nail beds, into her hair until it
Is in front of us, plated as egg curry or fish, the
Turmeric staining our fingers too, our tongues
And then our hearts.