Birthday. Most years, my birthday marks the end of the school year. Some years, my birthday overlaps with my English exam. That year, my birthday fell on Father’s Day. – An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir A memoir about life after death, and a little girl who nearly lost her life after her father lost…
Tag Archives: loss
Empty cups sit still in Daddy’s room. I won’t move them.
005
Mother
Potted like plants, we are the roots of your survival and the void in the sea. We are always here but not here at all. Stumble and step, You insult and wound. Stand up and walk, You kiss and swoon.
Coming: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
Trinkets dance as the days roll along. The leaves fall to the ground, Damp and deteriorated Waiting for the winter. The girls ask what vixen I will become But all I think of is the vixen I’ve been as the third year approaches. It’s like Christmas and less like Halloween. New gifts opened and the…
Haircut: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
Haircut I conquered a fear today, Sitting in a barber’s chair. Amongst pink walls and shanti style, With reggae playing behind my head. The shears pulsed against my skin, Cutting away masks of perfection. Clip, clip, clip. My hair falls to the ground. And I remember that day in the shower, Where my hair fell…
Skin: A Excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
Skin Tattered and pulled Too tight Too loose. My skin, Scarred and ruined And wounded. Saddened and angered By my life By my choices. These ungodly marks I stare at in the mirror- Remind me Of the journey I’ve led, Of the purple path I choose When everything was blue. Of the bowls I pushed…
Grab a Bowl
I’m whipping up something magical for you. l/r
Cemetery: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
Cemetery We leave my older brother as he shovels the dirt atop my father’s coffin. He intended to bury him himself. My older brother, Kevin, had to take the shovel from him. In the car I am numb again. So many words bounce off the walls of my skull. People don’t think I will survive,…
Grab a Bowl
Today’s excerpt is a little different. A little sadder than most. I hope you like it. l/r
Coins: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
Coins I can’t tell you the amount of coins My father found when he was alive. Pennies, Nickels, Dimes. All aligned waiting for him, To stop and pick up. He’d catch a glimpse of their silvery, Faces, Laying flat and unimportant on the sidewalk. When he’d pick them up I’d smile In amazement that he…
