My dad’s cigarettes by Myriam Sabbaghi
My dad’s cigarettes
by Myriam Sabbaghi
Every morning and evening my dad sits on the sofa to roll cigarettes
The giant bag of tobacco on his left, the little white pieces of paper and filters on his right
He doesn’t speak, just works in silent anger
As if to say, “Don’t talk to me now, I’m rolling my cigarettes.”
The air around him smells like freshly made Italian coffee,
Porcelain white cups unwashed on the kitchen counter
Before he went away, he left me a single cigarette on the coffee table, as if he knew.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally from Seattle, Myriam currently resides in Washington D.C. She is Iranian-Italian American, and grew up speaking Farsi and Italian languages fluently, fueling her lifelong passion of learning languages such as Arabic, French, and Spanish. Myriam completed her undergraduate studies at the University of Washington, Seattle and her graduate studies at the University of Chicago. Myriam is also very interested in the intersection of organizing and creative writing. You can find Myriam spending time with her family and friends, reading and writing poetry, traveling, and cooking. Follow her on Twitter @thewooldyer.
AUTHOR PHOTO by Aria Fani, taken at Cafe Allegro in Seattle, WA • FEATURED IMAGE BY the author
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