Recertified

My mother goes to the Hawaii Supermarket
& abandons groceries at the checkout.
She had spent over an hour picking cherimoyas
for the altar, cereal for Johnny, Coke
for me, raw fish… Her EBT declines.
She has no choice. The next morning,
I’m waiting on the phone—

they always put us on hold.
The lady on the phone blames
us for not checking the government
portal when it’s time to do the annual
recertification. The questions are hard
to understand even for someone with multiple
degrees, as if no one can stand a chance.
They capitalized the “H” in Help,
meaning they know we need them.
Meaning the government
has become a kind of God.

We had trouble retrieving your information.
We had trouble retrieving your information.

I’ve uploaded my mother’s given pay stubs,
date of birth. The last four digits
of her social security that I’ve memorized,
having done this many times.
This is an impossible bargain.
I must cover up my tattoos
at the meeting. What if they accuse
my mother of not teaching
her children to spend money
productively.

We had trouble retrieving your information.
We had trouble retrieving your information.

The intercom calls out for window 10,
as if my mother has entered punishment
for asking to keep herself, my father, & my brother fed.
I am arguing in my most proper English:
How do you know how to fix something when you have not been told what is wrong?
This person does not know my mother
has worked her entire life. Or maybe
she does with all the stubs
on her end of the computer,
but we never get to see the screen.

We had trouble retrieving your information.
We had trouble retrieving your information.

My mother is worried about dressing
too nicely at government meetings,
afraid that being put together means no help.
I want her to not feel ashamed.
I want to tell her that she has nothing
to worry about. She turns the EBT card
backwards in her wallet, worried
the tip of the mountains on the card
would tell strangers that she could not provide
for her family alone. We wait to be called
at the California Department of Social Services.

I feel lucky to be visiting
home when she needs me.
The picture on the card pretends
to promise with its blue ocean
by the cliffs, but we are hanging
on by its magnetic strip
that lets the machine
know if the things in the cart are hers.
She comes home. There are tears, & I tell her:
One day, I will buy you everything.