The first time I saw poor
I kept brown and purple money underneath my bra
Like mami taught me
&
If we didn’t mind the lesser value
A few stores in Brooklyn
Would let us
Trade in our un-ripped booklets for a few sheets of green
And a couple of copper and silver coins
The first time I tasted poor
I was a red sauced faced little girl
Licking hunger off the top of my lips
The only chef I knew wore a white coat and tall hat
And lived on aluminum cans
The first time I heard poor
Was when mami gave me her grilled cheese sandwich
And let me lie on her belly while she rubbed my head to sleep
I didn’t know mothers got hungry too
Until I heard her stomach
Growl and tell me about every meal she had ever skipped to feed me
The first time I loved poor
His name was Bezy
Our first kiss was in the back of a broken down church van
And it tasted like every can of ravioli I loved to eat
The first time I felt poor
Mami whooped my behind with a wore down leather belt
Cause she found my diary entry about Bezy
She said I was too young to know what love was
This ...
This led to the first time I learned about poor
I was upset at the fact that she put an age limit on when i could learn about love
but no age limit on struggle ...
“At what fucking age do we get to stop being poor!?”
I screamed so loud
that i saw her hair move slightly
but she never blinked
I started to run towards my room to avoid another ass whoopin
Her words trailed behind me
they carried defeat in their tone
“Mija, You were born poor, you will die poor “
I slammed the door so hard
before her words had a chance to stitch into my skin
like tattoos
Poor is not a permanent mommy
and
That
and that was the last time I saw poor
To this day when I visit mami
I see her words
hanging from the bedroom door that used to be mine
stood there ever since i slammed it
Part of me doesn’t believe her
The other part
Still walks around with her money underneath her bra.