I remember watching my dad
leave his dinner plate on the dining table
with remains strewn
on the plastic covering the tablecloth.
It was left there for my mom
to pick up and clean.
I watched her appear from the kitchen,
pick up the plate and scrape the food
off the table with her bare hands.
I was surprised how her face didn't show
what I felt in my stomach.
This never changed in the last 16 years.
She cleans that table every night
knowing tomorrow will be the same.
YOU ARE READING
Amalgam
PoetryThis collection is an amalgamation of thoughts and experiences I had as I went through my teenage years and now my adult life.
