Magic Mushroom

While the sun was setting behind me
I watched my mom and my aunt.
They dressed in their matching turquoise and purple muu muus
and ate shrimp tacos on the back porch as they shimmied with each bite.
We laughed about my cousin’s whale spout in her hair when she was younger.
We reminisced about grown adults sitting on their mom’s lap and bare-breasted hugs at family reunions.
We laughed about boogers and boobs and pubes and wingspans of swimmers.
They flicked water on each other and my two favorite people in the world tried to gross each other out.
I ate the family magic mushroom and I loved it.

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