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May 25, 2010

The room was full of bright yellow.

Sun streaming in through dark cream curtains
Giving the room a yellow glow.
Balloons – yellow – hung from every available surface.
Streamers spread from the fan in the centre of the ceiling
To various point around the edges
Giving the impression of a big yellow spiders web.
The table was dressed in yellow
And so was I.

A man entered.
A delivery man.
With a fluorescent yellow high visibility shirt and socks.
His navy shorts were sprinkled with dirt
And a single yellow flower petal.


He shouted in my face.
Obviously intimidated by the Deaf kid.

I replied, “Yellow.”

His ignorance over took intimidation.
He made a stupid face at me
Swallowed hard
And backed away.

Maybe he mistook the word “yellow” for something else.
Probably “idiotic”
That suited him better, anyway.

He brought them in on a little trolley.
Like the ones they use for shifting crates at supermarkets.

Hundreds of bright yellow daffodils.

After the third trolley load he looked around a moment.
Seeing no one else in the room he rested his eyes on me once more.


I told him, “In the rubbish bin.”
But in his ignorance he just shrugged his shoulders
And began unloading them on the spot.

As he was leaving his trolley knocked the sideboard.
A bright yellow glass heart that was framing my baby brother’s face fell to the floor.
It shattered on the white tiles and tiny flecks of glass exploded around my ankles.

Mum appeared at the door.

She looked at the delivery man
Who had kept walking
But stopped when she arrived.

He looked at me

Standing with my brother’s shattered heart around my ankles.

I didn’t see what mum said,
But he nodded
Then left.

She turned on me
Bitterness dripping from her eyes
And anger etched into her face.


The words hit me in the chest.

They dislodged my heart
And it fell to the floor
Shattering on the tiles.

Bitterness dripped from my eyes
And anger etched itself into my face.

“I wish it was you who died. Then we would have a pile of weeds instead of all these stupid yellow daffodils.”

I ran to my room
And didn’t come out until the next day.

The daffodils were gone.

There was no hint of yellow anywhere in the house.

Just his face

Framed by a heart

Woven from little white flowers

Picked from the weeds in our back garden.

6 Comments leave one →
  1. May 25, 2010 8:43 am

    The power of your writing leaves me breathless ….

  2. May 25, 2010 9:13 am

    Oh Sammi…that is really sad and sparked up my empathy. Good writing and communication of feeling.

    I love the way you write
    in short and broken sentences
    without punctuation marks.

  3. May 25, 2010 8:26 pm

    Wow. Your writing is amazing. This stirred so many emotions within me.


  4. sammispeaks permalink*
    May 26, 2010 8:54 am

    Ta girls.
    Not bad for an ex emotional constipant
    Hey Megan?

  5. May 26, 2010 9:04 am

    Your a constipant because you don’t like to eat watermelon or pineapple!

  6. Dallas Stapleton permalink
    May 28, 2010 9:04 am

    You have done it once again. Incredible writing!

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