Both Alike in Suppers
A Poem About Living
A hawk with her meal
soars above me and my net,
our suppers the same.
About the Creator
Brittany Shelby-Phillips
A curious soul remarking on a human experience. 🧚🏻♀️💜
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More stories from Brittany Shelby-Phillips and writers in Poets and other communities.
Crossing Guard. Runner-up in Small Kindness Challenge.
A stab of pain jolts me from my sleep. I must have made some sort of noise in response because I hear my daughter and granddaughter scurrying around me, roused from whatever spot they found comfortable enough in this cramped den to finally rest. I can’t open my eyes to be sure, but I know they are hurrying to either side of my reclining chair turned deathbed. They each grab one of my hands, and even though I can't see them, I know Theresa, my sweet baby girl, is on my right, and my precious granddaughter, Brittany, is on my left. I hear her say, "We're right here, Nana. Do you need some water?" We both know she really means, “Do you want me to roll this wet sponge across your lips?” I do not know for sure how long it has been since I lost the ability to swallow, but everyone in this room knows how long a body can go without water, and I am ready but afraid.
By Brittany Shelby-Phillipsabout a year ago in Psyche
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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