Nothing Is Equal

By Carla Sosa  |   From : Dominican Republic  |   School : Bloomfield High School


I miss when you cooked for me the Dominican plate,

the Habichuelas, Arroz Y Carne..


The way you yell at me, with your hands on your  hips

and with an intense look of “no!”

And stand up in the middle of the room,

because I went to play with my friends at lunch time.


I really miss when you took care of me

when my mama couldn’t,

when she was working or when

she had to go to some emergency.


I miss the smell of food at breakfast,

Huevos De Codorniz

A kind of chicken, like a dove, no a quail

Eggs sunny side up on top of sweet plantains, fried

Maybe Pan con

A beautiful cup of chocolate

The smell of fresh bread in front of me.


I miss your lunch

Papa at the head of the table

Me, my uncle, and you, abuela opposite papa

Arroz con pollo y habichuelas

On a ceramic dish decorated with leaves.


Oh cena! Ocho y media

The same gang the beautiful smell

of arepas and chocolate


It is not the same now

every morning that I eat the same,

I eat nothing

Nothing is equal to what you gave to me,

Nothing smells the same, or tastes the same.


I miss the way you take me to the Mercado, with

all the crowds, and a lot of food in little cabinets,

because I didn’t want you to hit me with your

Chanclas, for no reason I think

I wanted you to stop screaming at me.

“Es aburrido”, “It’s boring,” I said

“Callate la boca cono”

So malapalabrosa, full of bad words, my abuela.


The smell of your hair, your clothes, everything,

sometimes I ask myself

If you use a different soap than me,

but then my mind says that I am taking showers wrong.

Nothing is right


I will visit you this December,

I will bring you flowers,

I know you are in a better place now Abuelita mia.

Your thumb is not going to look empty now.



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