Charlotte Fertey // Contributor
Anais Bayle // Illustration
I staggered and fell, picked up, again.
It is sometime between light-time and dark-time
And I sing a tuneless song
Stumbling aimlessly around the house looking for nothing
Frustrated by my lack of purpose
Am I supposed to feel ambitious?
I bumble through the dusty-light of the living room and
I pluck a leaf from the African violet and put it in my mouth
I lay back on the floor, my arms spread wide and wonder:
Do they think I am hungry? Am I hungry?
I want warm milk
But they give me noodles with butter and salt and here I am
Bibbed up like an old Parisian man and
I spot some oranges and give them back their noodles and
I wonder how they know it’s lunch time?
Outside I see birds and nothing else matters.
Category: Literature