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Dangerous Compassions

strawberry goddess

Today I learned that oatmeal cookies might not bake so well in a car-based solar oven as cookies, but they can be delicious granola.

Also I learned that I’ve been thinking a lot for 40 years about how I would go to a strawberry stand with my mom, for I come from a land of strawberries, and there would often be a huge strawberry, to the side a bit–mega, colossal, ridiculously big strawberry.

“Wow, look at that big strawberry!” I’d say or think, and imagine eating it. Imagine the stand worker taking it home at the end of the day, and devouring it after dinner, or as soon as she got home, after showing it to her family.

I realized I had this whole fantasy about the fieldworkers picking, picking, and they see the huge strawberry and bring it to her, to honor her, as the goddess she is. In this silly version, they have a special pillow they carry it on.

Not sure why that makes me cry tonight. I guess the things a person can take for granted. That was normal life I thought would continue for way longer.

Going to the strawberry stand, seeing the mega strawberry, seeing workers in the field. Deciding how many boxes we could eat. Eating a few on the way home. Are these as good as last time. They’re less sweet, but they have a really good flavor.

My parents met working in the fields. My homeland is part of me. But I never know when I’ll go there again.

I imagine–to feel the ocean breeze and smell the plants there, I would flop on the ground and cry so many tears into it. I would not be an appropriate visitor. I would be full on not appropriate, emoting about the lost mom, which means losing everything.

Ignore the fat woman face down, weeping into the earth by the roadside. Please continue doing capitalism like normal. Keep driving–there is nothing to see here.

But the long-haired Asian-American spouse is standing there, waiting, loving–ready to stand there a while.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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