COOKING HILSA

Heat mustard oil in
a wok until you bathe in
its smoke. Drop the
fish with
fresh green
chilies in the
sizzle.

Save the oil. The ancestral
elixir your rice remembers.

Parse the fish bones
with your fingers, take
carefully-impatient bites.

Let the memory of a
week-long bone-in-the-throat
pain in your youth
be your guide.

Live in
the cloud of the fish smoke
that is now your house.
Imagine you’re in your
home city years ago
when you could scarcely
afford the fish or its obstinate
lingering.

Promise never to
buy it again; spare yourself
the agony of its fussy
bones and fishy hangover.

When you visit the
Bangladeshi store next,
fall for its charm again.

Admit that some surrenders
are irreversible. And hereditary.

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