The sun rises over the mountains
eating the tops
in rays, yellow and orange
bright beams, blinding the eyes
paralyzing them to
stay, eating their soul
Soul food has always been
my comfort. Dressing my tummy
in its rich favors.
Coating my insides with
the spice, until I had
a terrible time.
This wasn't like the
others. It smelt
like dirty socks
worn with years of dirt and grim.
So easy for them to
fall apart, but enough
to make them walk.
Walk away was all
my stomach wanted
to do. Clawing its way
up my throat. Making
me suffocate.
Chittlins, were their name
pig's intestines
boiled to make a soup
One that no one was
eager to eat, but
we had to.
Forced, to taste
shoving into my
mouth. desperate for the
pain to end. Done
never again till the
next time around.
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