adventures in dysthymia

Friday, July 01, 2011

Fruta

Little Maria has picked all the raisins
out of her oatmeal and  laid each one, each
small unknown object, beside the pink bowl.

It is her favorite bowl. She has never
seen raisins before this morning and thinks
they might be bugs. She does not eat bugs,

being a sensible and smart muchacha,
as four-year-olds go. With my limited Spanish,
I can not convince her that they are just fruta,

that they are buena. Maria can be
stubborn and little dark wrinkled frutas
have not been a part of her life nor her breakfast.

Ah well, the twins, Raul and Diego, have filled
their chubby cheeks with her rejects. They like
raisins. I think they may even like bugs.

Stephen Brooke ©2011

A memory that passed through my mind this morning, from the time I spent working with the children of migrant workers. A mighty long time ago! I decided to get it down in some form and so this poem.

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