A guest submission for this week’s theme!

Thoughts on the Subject of Glunttony

In my culture,
How someone feeds you
Is in direct correlation to how they love you.
Full plates, thick sauces, hearty breads,
Steam emanating from pots like
Affectionate whispers.

My grandmother cooked for me
From when I was a baby
To the day I moved out of her house.
She would place mounds of food before me
And sit in front of the kitchen door.
We were not allowed from the table
Until our plates were licked clean.

I would sit on a telephone book
In her kitchen,
Feet swinging,
Spooning scalding soup to my lips.
I would eat, mouth ablaze,
Until my stomach ached,
Extended out like a globe.
She would smile as she replaced my empty dish
With a candy bar.

After lunch everyday
Grandmother would ask us
Gostaram? Querem mais?
Did you like it? Do you want more?
Always yes.
Always more.
The supply was bottomless
And to our taste.

And so I gave to you
with the childlike understanding
That you would take from me
And that in this give and take,
You would illustrate your devotion,
That you would value my undying need to fill you,
To watch your soul grow pregnant with my offerings.

And perhaps this story can explain
The difference between you and I,
Why your plain refusal rings in my ears.
While I forever answered yes, more,
You simply spit out no
And it did not burn your tongue.

Written by Melaney Arruda of Things I Would Have Said