Our Fridge Is A Cupboard

Letting go of the place I grew up.

Oreoluwa Fakorede
Sep 8, 2018 · 1 min read

Mummy’s old shoes,
Daddy’s new tools,
Newspapers screaming bad news the world has since forgotten,
(It always forgets, doesn’t it?)
Faded report cards,
The ones with grades we wish we’d never gotten,
My siblings and I,
Our moments of shame belong in the musty dark,
A doll with a missing eye,
A handbill from the church car park,
Daddy’s church,
Then Mummy’s church,
Then nobody’s church,
Letters faded like our household faith,
A bad marriage will make an unbeliever of a saint,
And put the fear of God in a sinner’s heart,
An empty egg crate,
Broken in places like Mummy’s heart,
A pin from her favourite hat,
Now my sister’s least favourite hat,
My sister, my love and my nemesis,
Tetris®, bricks stacked up for nothing,
Going up to come down,
Like life,
A gold star for my brother,
The last of the ones we got for being good,
Life expands, one way or another,
Childhood dies, we all move along,
I must move along,
From these memories of a home that is now a house because everyone is gone,
And now everything must burn.

Oreoluwa Fakorede

Written by

God-chasing ex-sinner, dying to live. Content strategist and copywriter.

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