By Regan Chern
Beside the children, I lay
In the scale
On the kitchen table.
A game piece to retain.
The mighty weight of paper,
Turns to father’s favour
In the divorce. Child
With arms keeping brothers,
Drops me into cardboard.
She can’t carry,
Me forward:
Sheds the salt,
Is broken.
No more hope.
She’s reminded,
When sunglasses break,
The watches stop,
Half-siblings on Facebook scroll past,
Father’s inability to make amends,
A son who’s becoming him,
Her pilfered drawer,
The lemon tree’s stump,
Those honeymoon sand jars aren’t enough.
Author Bio:
Regan is in his final year of a BFA (Creative Writing) at QUT etc.… do you really need to know more than that? You could be reading my work instead, you know. It’s far better than any dry self-aggrandising drivel that I could’ve written for this bio.
If you’d like to contact me, do so through my Instagram: @regancchern