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Yet Another Blog

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Mom, please, please,
please stop breaking the dishes.
They did not a thing.

I flee from the kitchen
to the safety of my bedroom
and tightly shut the door.

But I am no more spared
in my room than the kitchen
from roars of exploding China.

I drown the noise
letting my stereo be
my sole refuge.

I clutch my head in despair
as another plate flies down
only to be shattered.

Mom’s dish-breakings still surface.
Mom, please stop breaking the dishes
just as you broke me, years ago…

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