one of eight mouths

rain, they say, is the
heaven pouring
blessings. when i
was a child, it means
flood, tickling my
chubby ankles, choking
my father’s chest
once. it means
waiting for free
food rations and escaped
shrimps from spilling
ponds. it is a
memorised, annual
struggle. a sweet,
repeating chapter
of our wooden,
dining table (too
small to sit eight
mouths) but was
never empty. not

even once.

©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse Come and take a selfie!

38 thoughts on “one of eight mouths”

  1. That you count your blessings through the struggle is a testament to your strength and to the power of gratitude. I love the ending: ‘never empty. not/even once.’ This is a true blessing and a beautiful poem.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. really love how you’ve done this! Shared a tough life and turned it around 🙂

    Your wooden table brought back a flood of memories for me … our large wooden one had 6-12 squeezed around it at any time! We had lots of foster brothers ..

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A wonderful portrait of living and surviving with a large and loving family. I love the opening lines, setting the scene, especially the flood tickling chubby ankles, the free food rations and escaped shrimp – doing what has to be done, and the final image of the too small wooden dining table that was never empty.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. The table that was never empty reminds of the loaves and fishes story from The Bible. Manna from heaven is something to be grateful for indeed. Sad to imagine watching for escapees from the shrimp pond so you’d have something to eat.

    Liked by 1 person

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