At the door of the wound-cleaning room

a chef clutching his knife injury

was escorted by his boss for stitches

Blood trailed from his fingers

all the way to his elbows

My mother and I

the head chefs of two generations of our family,

began exchanging stories

about the worst knife injuries

we’d ever had

She said there was one time

she shaved off the tip of her finger —

off

and clean

The nail and flesh were all sliced away

She clutched her bleeding finger

and ran out of the kitchen, intending to call for my dad

But at the kitchen door, she froze for a few seconds

calmed herself down,

and gave up.

She was afraid my dad

would panic

fail to apply a bandage properly

She was afraid to see him

mess up 

even this small task.

She was afraid

he would criticize her

blame her

He would say,

You’ve caused trouble again

He would definitely say

You’re looking for trouble

You bring disaster

After twenty years of marriage

She knew exactly

What he would say.

She was too afraid to actually hear him say it

So she turned back into the kitchen

wrapped her finger with layers of tissue

trying to soak up the blood

to making sure not to let it 

drip onto the beef

With her other hand

she quickly finished

cooking the beef noodles

She hid her bloody hand behind her back

carried the bowl with the other

and brought it to my dad who was watching TV

My dad even didn’t look up

Only then

Did her heart finally settle

She said this happened

more than twenty years ago

To this day,

your dad still doesn’t know

I sliced off the tip of my finger

Hahaha, she laughed

And he still doesn’t know

where that bit of finger 

ended up

 

My dad

repeats in my mind

over and over

chomping

the act of slurping noodles

He stares at the TV

shoving a piece of meat

into his mouth.

（2023）