your mother never had to tell
you and your brothers
and sisters
to eat everything, that
there are starving children
around the world
who would love to have
your meal.
we cleaned our plates.
drank every drop of milk.
ate every slice of white
bread slathered in
butter.
it wasn't a race, but it
felt like it at times.
each standing in line
at the one bathroom door
to wash our hands, our
faces before dinner.
we ate with big eyes,
fast hands,
negotiating for what
the others didn't want.
there were no leftovers.
we made sure of that.
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