Leftovers
In eighth grade Dad left albondigas in the fridge.In the pot were meatballsseasoned with shavings of garlic,meat laced with rice grains, tanned to hard leather.Served in faded bowls, chipped from use –Mom, brother, sister.Heads down,our last supper faces gazing inward.Candles wasted to stubs,wearing our best faces.Each belly cried, hidden by held hands,lingering, moments away from grace. Carlo Sosa-Ortiz is Associate
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