Noodlehead Days

March 5, 2018

i remember taking snails home

tan little palms became their home

spending most days in july stomping on rain puddles

to prove i could be obnoxious


scraping my knees on dark grey concrete

the cracks on the sidewalks became home to my tears

whenever i felt pain


chewing big wads of pink bubble gum

wrapped in bright neon yellow paper

“only one piece” ma would say

i would grab two in a swiftness

sneaky sneaky


i remember warm chocolate milk

that made my tummy boil

salsa playing from the kitchen

where my mother & her broom intertwined

she never seemed so happy


when 4 quarters got you 4 bags of any assorted chips you wanted


having large knots in my hair

sticky dirty little fingers

and having shoelaces

that never seemed to stay in place


being 6 was a good age


digging for worms before seven

because dinner was at eight

and ma warned me not to be late


rice, beans, chicken, a meal i always wanted to avoid



rusted chains

unclaimed scooters

and a massive hill at the end of our street

that i was forbidden to travel down


the days felt like forever

like a television left on all day

on purpose


tan barbies

blue hot wheels

i put all these things in a box

memories to precious to give away


here i am at 19

unpacking that box



why i stopped taking snails home

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