Fruit Basket | Teen Ink

Fruit Basket MAG

January 27, 2014
By Eugyoung23 BRONZE, Montevideo, Other
Eugyoung23 BRONZE, Montevideo, Other
4 articles 0 photos 3 comments

AAs soon as the dark paint gets washed off the sky, and when the needle points
the large 5,
the clashing and banging starts.

It sounds like there's a quinceanera
in the kitchen. No, it's more like
a cacerolazos.

Annoyed and angry, I march into the kitchen
“What's going on?” I ask,
putting a hand on my hip.

She turns around like a little puppet.
Those friendly ones you see in a TV show.
Constantly smiling, warm, always trying to make you happy.

“Come have some breakfast,” she says.
She shows me a basket full of strawberries and apples.
It's not really what I want to eat.

I push the baskets out of my way, and
the fruits roll out, falling to the ground.
“It's all right, I'll clean that up,”
my mom says.

She bends down and picks the fallen fruit.
With her cracked, hardened hand, she
wipes the surface.
“See? All good,” she says and puts them back into the basket.

I'm standing by the table, speechless.
“I'll just leave these here,” she says,
“In case you get hungry later.”


The author's comments:
This is a poem I wrote when I was in 9th grade. This is the rationale I wrote back at then: the poem “Fruit Basket” was inspired to show the relationship that mothers and teenagers nowadays have. Us, teenagers, never really thank our mothers for their hard work, or their loving care. Kids just shrug their mothers off and ignore them when they show interest, constantly argue, and get mad if they make even the tiniest mistake. We never really think about the love that is wrapped underneath their words or actions. I got this idea while my mother and I were driving back home from school. She was asking how my day was, if I had any worries, etc. yet I zipped my mouth and stayed quiet. I thought about it for a while and realized how cruel I was to my own mother. I just shut myself into a box and didn’t allow my mother to come in.

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