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You Gave Me My Childhood In A Tupperware Container Today

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You gave me my childhood in a Tupperware container today.
The fragrances of masa harina, cilantro, and
that thick blanket of sautéed onions in the air
hit me in the face
as I scrambled to lift the lid.
My eyelids squeeze shut,
I won’t let the past spill out,
I’ll squeeze them shut,
so I can have them with me forever.
Her chapped lips brushing my forehead every morning
Her leathery hands,
and shabby clothes,
her boundless supply of makeup products tucked away in that pristine bag.
That irresistible laugh of hers,
engulfing me
for ten years.
Inside, I refuse to journey into the time of darkness
Where tears were silently shed,
where there were questions of existence.
A time of goodbyes,
where my outside self
was forced to grow five years my senior,
indifferent to the misery,
forced to be a big girl.
She gave me that bag,
She told me to hide,
hide quickly,
behind those layers of maquillage.
Because,
who wants to see a sad face in this sad world?
“Show the world your shining face, silly old bear.”

My eyelids fly open
to see
the lump of congealed tortillas and limp vegetables.
They may be congealed tortillas and limp vegetables,
but when I warm it up,
you give me my childhood in a Tupperware container.





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