Nadia Patterson
dad, i don't remember
if ever i could remember dew drops
on the crack of dawn, with instant coffee drooling
down the backs of our throat
the air that shivers, the fog brimming with
mysteries then, dirt road afternoons
and dust and heavy things
into pitch black and stars strung up upon
the outdoor ceiling, placed so carefully
if i could
drown
in the blissful unawareness and forget
the throbbing on my skin
the tightness of my throat
buuundaberg breath and how the small width
of my neck makes it kind of ..easy
so i trickle down a path
in the blacked out parts where i accept my death
with your hands around my neck,
and i took it upon myself if i said yes
i’d take control of the debris
dad, i don’t remember when you left,
it’s hard to remember things in death
getting dragged through hell
and screeching, seething with scratches
of the devil’s hands up every inch
of my back
you went missing and i was dead
someone else by the time you returned
god i tried to take the pain away
dad, i don’t remember your pathetic text,
‘sorry’ is all i heard it read
if anything had stuck it was the way
you forgot how to look me in the eye
and steph couldn’t say a word
and the pain never crept away
i was 23 last year, dad
and somewhere inside the dew drops came back
and the sparra-fart mornings even,
the fear you find when you face
a spider—and my laughter
yet, we still need beer to catch one another
in the eye
i often make peace with that
i take my instant coffee and the weed habit
and slowly kill off every last part of me
that you knew to be true
the ego i doused in petrol, the layers of ink
buried into my skin; my father, the stranger
in another timeline i took my last breath
there in that bedroom
and in this one
i’m not so afraid to anymore
on the crack of dawn, with instant coffee drooling
down the backs of our throat
the air that shivers, the fog brimming with
mysteries then, dirt road afternoons
and dust and heavy things
into pitch black and stars strung up upon
the outdoor ceiling, placed so carefully
if i could
drown
in the blissful unawareness and forget
the throbbing on my skin
the tightness of my throat
buuundaberg breath and how the small width
of my neck makes it kind of ..easy
so i trickle down a path
in the blacked out parts where i accept my death
with your hands around my neck,
and i took it upon myself if i said yes
i’d take control of the debris
dad, i don’t remember when you left,
it’s hard to remember things in death
getting dragged through hell
and screeching, seething with scratches
of the devil’s hands up every inch
of my back
you went missing and i was dead
someone else by the time you returned
god i tried to take the pain away
dad, i don’t remember your pathetic text,
‘sorry’ is all i heard it read
if anything had stuck it was the way
you forgot how to look me in the eye
and steph couldn’t say a word
and the pain never crept away
i was 23 last year, dad
and somewhere inside the dew drops came back
and the sparra-fart mornings even,
the fear you find when you face
a spider—and my laughter
yet, we still need beer to catch one another
in the eye
i often make peace with that
i take my instant coffee and the weed habit
and slowly kill off every last part of me
that you knew to be true
the ego i doused in petrol, the layers of ink
buried into my skin; my father, the stranger
in another timeline i took my last breath
there in that bedroom
and in this one
i’m not so afraid to anymore
Biography
Photography by Tiah Bullock
|
Nadia Patterson (she/they) is a poet, visual artist, and musician living on unceded Kaurna Land, Adelaide, Australia. Nadia’s poetry often comes from a deep longing to understand the self, exploring themes within childhood and adolescence, being an identical twin, love, longing, and barely coping. Some of this work has appeared in Porridge Magazine, Tunnel Vision, and was a winner of the 2020 Mindshare Awards. You can find more of their poetry and art on Instagram: @fastwords223
|
