Vivian Clarke
Bio
Third-culture-kid-now-adult with a melancholic disposition trying to make sense of life, like anyone else.
I live for my daughter, cats, and coffee.
Stories (36/0)
Cafeteria Courage
When I was eight, perhaps nine years old in Elementary School, I begged my parents for lunch money. I had been making my own lunch for two years then, and it always left me dissatisfied, and more importantly, made me look poor. I bought my lunches from then on, 4th grade then—it was 4th grade.
By Vivian Clarke2 years ago in Humans
Purple Memories: For My Grandmother
She said, “To LOVE as we do; to FEEL as we do--is to be alone.” I was on the phone with her, 24 years old, telling her I was leaving my husband. It doesn’t matter the exact words, I remember how we felt. WE. How we understood each other at that moment. A deep, wordless understanding and knowingness. I still to this day cannot remember whether she said “to love” or “to feel,” it’s the same thing to me. I know what she meant. Married and truly in love over 70 years, and I heard the loneliness in her. The alienation. She felt different. We always had felt different.
By Vivian Clarke2 years ago in Families
When I Laugh, I Bleed
When we smile and we laugh, our faces crease in folds, they fold and dent in lines. And if we do it enough, they form wrinkles. And when we frown or worry, our faces fold. They fold and fold. In lines and creases. And all these lines and folds and creases, they show up on our skin as we grow old.
By Vivian Clarke2 years ago in Poets