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My Mother MAG
My mother is as strong as the pit of an avocado.
I watched as she planted her feet in the wet cement,
while my father mocked her parenting skills.
Despite his harmful words I never once saw a tear fall.
He had to manage every situation.
When he came, we would play a game called Family Bonding.
You could score perfectly as long as my father was the controller.
He was the lion with a commanding roar.
My mother's laugh is like a flamingo, it stands out anywhere in the house.
But when my father came, she lost her voice.
She learned not to intrude on the lion's feast,
even if I was the one being attacked.
That was the survival game, to let the lion's roar quiet the birds.