My mother grew me
Hair, bones, teeth and skin
Incubating in her stomach
Nourishing an idea of a person
For nine tender months
Until I burst forth
Like a hideous, shriveled raisin
And became real

My mother grew me
She gave me yellow and white food
Because I refused other colors
She made me a strawberry cake
Because strawberries are in season in June
I ate it even though it was pink

My mother grew me
“Come here, let me teach you to make…”
“ghruuuuuuuuuhhhhhh, do I have to ma?”
Now I stand at the stove
Smashing garlic with a knife
Throwing in salt and too much olive oil
And remembering those lessons

My mother grew us
Her stomach carried three ideas
She nourished us
Within and without
And seasoned us with her joy
With her tears and frustrations
Spiced us with laughter
And dancing

Our mother grew us
She fed us and taught us
That feeding someone is one way to say
I want you to be well
I value you
I love you

This entry was posted in family, food, love, personal, Poem and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Grow

  1. Very touching. Effective repetition.

  2. Pai says:

    mummies are incredible ….

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