\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nI am not lazy<\/p>\n
When you ask me to go and get the knives and forks for dinner,<\/p>\n
And I act reluctant.<\/p>\n
My sigh and slumped shoulders are not a sign of teenage apathy. Don\u2019t \u2018kid\u2019 yourself.<\/p>\n
Truthfully, I am unwilling because<\/p>\n
My hands betray me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I see the dull silver cutlery \u2013<\/p>\n
Obedient in lines<\/p>\n
And my hands grab four pairs<\/p>\n
Of knives and forks. Habitually.<\/p>\n
At the start, I was not able to bring myself to put back the useless pair<\/p>\n
So the knife and fork would sit (hidden) on my lap while I ate, secretive and lifeless.<\/p>\n
The warmth of my body could not thaw the ice of the cold cutlery. At least they have each other, I would muse.<\/p>\n
I cannot be happy for them.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Now, it\u2019s just another reflex:<\/p>\n
To drop the fourth pair back into the drawer<\/p>\n
And hear the clang echoing in the space where you no longer stand.<\/p>\n
Although I don\u2019t have to think about it anymore, I still feel it.<\/p>\n
No level of rehearsal leaves my emotions silent.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So every dinner time I am confronted by the visceral sensation of my blood draining,<\/p>\n
And heart gasping: as if I have missed a step on those stairs.<\/p>\n
(that your feet no longer tread.)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Worst of all, sometimes I bitterly remember<\/p>\n
That each of these knives and forks has a pair,<\/p>\n
And when I approach the table,<\/p>\n
At either house \u2013<\/p>\n
My mother and father no longer have their pair.<\/p>\n
No longer complete, in my eyes, at least. The pair of cutlery on my lap and in my hands agree. I cannot look away.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
This is one of those small, small, moments each day where I am reminded of the sorrow buried within me.<\/p>\n
It is trying to breathe. Stop suffocating it.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cutlery tells me \u2013 my sorrow is begging to be heard.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So do not call me lazy \u2013 I am trying to breathe.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nAlice Parsons<\/em><\/strong>, 17<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Alice Parsons’s poem ‘Cutlery’ is the recipient of a 2020 Newcastle Poetry Competition\u00a0Young People’s Prize. Cutlery \u00a0 I am not lazy When you ask…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3088,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[6],"tags":[678,664,604,9],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3146"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3146"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3146\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3147,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3146\/revisions\/3147"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3088"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3146"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3146"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.nclacommunity.org\/content\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3146"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}