Member-only story
Child-Home
2 min readAug 2, 2020
Amid suburban life
I catch the scent of the soil
After a hailstorm
The warmth of the motherly afternoon sun
After a long day on the playground
My tongue still burnt
From the hot, rich, rooibos tea
As sharp as conversation.
My skin still feels the grass
As though it were the carpet
I used to lazily lay on in the longue at leisure
Staring blankly at the television
As my childhood passed me
with every flashing frame.
| a poem by nublaccsoul from Chickens Laying Eggs on The Roof (2019)
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