The Lunch Box
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What was in your lunch box was a window—
into the home you came from, the hands that packed,
the particular love of whichever parent
had assembled what the morning lacked.
We traded pieces of our lunches willingly—
your mother's cooking for the taste of mine—
the economics of the school-day table
where sharing was the currency and sign.
The lunch box was more than food and container—
it was the home you carried to the away,
the piece of belonging that you brought to show:
I am from somewhere. I ate there today.
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What was in your lunch box was a window—
into the home you came from, the hands that packed,
the particular love of whichever parent
had assembled what the morning lacked.
We traded pieces of our lunches willingly—
your mother's cooking for the taste of mine—
the economics of the school-day table
where sharing was the currency and sign.
The lunch box was more than food and container—
it was the home you carried to the away,
the piece of belonging that you brought to show:
I am from somewhere. I ate there today.
