Tastes like cardboard,
you say, face scrunched,
wistful of a mother’s recipe
you haven’t yet mastered.
I swallow my offense:
this may be the last time
I hear it; your voice.
Stacked by the front door with my fellow fallen…
I cannot consent to swallow your love cold—
down my throat you pour, I choke.
At five years we left your stranglehold.
From you, my childhood was pigeonholed,
left alone, you couldn’t phone despite us being kinfolk.
I cannot consent…
Autumn evening calls,
it’s after dinner
and we are out the door.
and it doesn’t matter.
Innocent energy unfurls,
high-tops hit pavement,
We run and run
through the neighbourhood;
The sun rises late in the morning and sets early in the evening,
a sign that autumn is departing, with its bright colours and crisp leaves,
as winter arrives with cold mornings and dark nights.
I shiver as I walk to the library,…