what’s growing on with poetry orchard?

hi, hi. here’s an update! we left tickettailor, we’re on eventbrite. our workshops… poems?

prompt

bittersweet
my father was not a sweet man. i wouldn’t call him kind or caring
outside of keeping us alive. i might call him spiteful, but i wasn’t
ever old enough to have a real opinion of him. faint memories
following nightmares, childhood visions. a terrible parent,
not on purpose, but by pattern. broken in a way because he stayed
playing by ear. i’d break a glass because i didn’t yet learn how fragile
it was. he’d break a child because he forgot how fragile children can be.
i hate him with my whole chest, but he was someone’s baby boy once
sat up in a trolley probably begging for candy as he passed it.
he took us to the thrift store all the time. i remember being a baby
begging for toys. i remember being a baby begging. i remember being
a baby. i remember being. i remember.