Noodlehead Days by Tiffany Suazo

Noodlehead Days

by Tiffany Suazo

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

wondering..

 

why i stopped taking snails home

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