Kandace Siobhan Walker
I don’t wanna be the doctor-son. I wanna walk past the beeping washing
machine in rebellion. Every now and then I want to stop existing.
Just wanna be the prodigal daughter, telephoning to say I’m at arrivals,
leaving the bed unmade, watching from the veranda while my siblings
wash the fatted calf’s blood out of the wood, only raising a pinkie
to drink sweet tea. Supper at the table I call head, you eat when I eat.
Cicadas breathe out the night, I wanna live a life without ambition too.
Pink grain and Spanish moss by the roadside. The sky can fuck itself
KANDACE SIOBHAN WALKER is a writer and filmmaker from Wales and elsewhere. Her writing has appeared in The Good Journal, the Guardian and LUMIN. She lives in South London.