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The Family Soup

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The spicy, homemade chili hits me as I walk in my home.
My parents stir the sizzling pot,
as my sister sings Christmas songs.
I chop the stinky onions and add them to the bowl.
My dad adds the secret ingredient—
passed down from my great grandma.
The pungent smell of the brown mush made me feel sick.
(I hated eating chili.)

Sitting around the table,
my mom pours me a bowl.
My dad tells jokes that make me laugh so hard,
little tears run down my face.
My spoon doesn’t move—
My teeth crunch down on the onions and peppers.
(I hated eating chili.)

As I walk in my quiet house, the sparkling snow falls from the dark sky.
My mom’s at work; my sister studies.
The microwave beeps as I pull out the two day old meatloaf.

The chewy meat makes my stomach spin rapidly. 
As I sit on the cold, wooden chairs, I think back to when I was nine—
laughing, singing, and eating the fiery soup.
(I miss eating chili.)






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