Ode to My Mom’s Menopause

now blood comes out of her mouth
with every no she makes
the ten thousand two hundred
and twentieth meal for dad
too salty, too bland
too bad her silence says
all the chicken blood
wasted in the lidded trash can
perfectly good blood
to draw circles around
the wrong words
bad wife, bad mother
bad cook, bad cleaner
bad person here she is
making another meal
now she is on the ground
to see the dust she can’t see
without glasses she doesn’t have
now she is thinking about flowers
all the ones she never got
from dad her chicken blood
moves her to the flower store
she buys potted orchids
with all of the grocery money