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By: Adrianna Puente


The heat of a mid-afternoon Sunday 

glowed off the apple cheeks of my mother. 

Her polka dot dress swayed as we walked to a booth;

the squeak of the plastic covered seats muffled the rumble of my stomach. 

Her hands gripped the two dollar, four dollar, six dollar menu;

my heart broke when she told me to order anything I wanted—

she only got pancakes.