Zach, I think this is the first time I’ve responded to one of your stories. Just want to let you know your poetry feeds the hungry part of my brain, the part that needs the wonder of words.

For myself, I spent most of my life with a mother that made food a horrible thing for me. The ways she fixed the food, making it nearly uneatable, then grudged everything I did eat, then the ways she derided my cooking all the years after that when I prepared the family food myself. Let’s just say, food doesn’t bring me much comfort now and preparing it is a constant PTSD trigger. It’s sad that food and trauma can become so closely linked.

Best of luck through it all! Be good to yourself!



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