Browse Nourish Stories by Keyword

A Good Thing Wrapped in Another Good Thing

Johnny Owens

I woke up the morning after, bleary eyed and nauseated, stomach still raw from the night before. It was 6.00pm and I'd been asleep for sixteen hours. I propped myself up on my elbows before easing my way into a sitting position. I looked around at the room I'd grown up in while a sense of icy dread settled in the pit of my stomach, as the realisation began to set in. In that moment, I longed to melt back into those few seconds after I woke. That place – found after hours in a deep sleep – where the reality of this world, this place, is entirely uncertain to you, if only for a brief moment.

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A is for Apple

George Roy

Act One.

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A Nourishing Start

Liz Denny

I am a child of Labour’s post-war welfare state. The children who were to have their diet supplemented with calcium from free milk, and vitamins A, B, C and D, contained in free ‘welfare foods’, ensuring our future growth and development. We were to be a healthier, better-nourished generation.

For my parents, who experienced the ‘hungry thirties’, having children of their own who were well nourished was at the forefront of their mind, it was part of their dream for a better society.

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A Quick Shop in the Co-Op

Alexander Hamilton

We were abandoned by our mother in our early teens; not that she left home, but following on from the death of my father, she went into mourning for the rest of her life. So we lived semi-detached lives, next door to where Fate and Bad Luck sat playing cards. If we were hungry she would indicate the general direction of the kitchen or any other area in which we might have felt a need.

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Aidy's First Christmas

Heather Hughes

I heard the car door slam. Dad’s home.

Although, of course, he wasn’t. It was the noise that had plagued my subconscious for over a month now. The sound that had once been so comforting to me, was now like a punch in the gut. I wondered if the noise did the same thing to the rest of the family. We’d lost Dad a month earlier. Lost sounds somewhat trivial, doesn’t it? Lost as though I’d been careless and he’d turn up eventually if I tidied my room. No, Dad had passed away and now we were a family of four. Mum, Jen, Iain and me.

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An Olive Tree is for Life

Margaret Bremner

One of the times in my life when I actually worked the land to produce the food I would later eat was during the two years I spent in Tanzania. We grew sweet potatoes, beans and rice and joined in the prayers of our neighbours that the rain would come in sufficient amounts before the seedlings dried out. There was a real sense of responsibility to each other and the land there. If one family was not cultivating a piece of ground, then another could make use of it. We often worked together and shared the harvest accordingly.

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Antie Mary’s Auld Kitchen

Emma Guinness

Pot wis piled oan pot efter pot
In Antie Mary’s auld kitchen.
The doors wur hangin’
By their hinges
Like Antie Mary hursel.
Ah wis just a wean when she tellt
Me hoo tae make sticky
Meringues wi’ strawbs an’ cream.

Salt oan cheesy twists left a bitter
Taste in ma mooth
Like the big reid button
Ootside the kitchen.
The button Antie Mary didnay press
When she fell
Doon wan last time.
She lay oan that flair fur days.

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Apple Pie Soup

When I first went to university, I started to shrink; much like a poor old mushroom, frying in the fizz and fat of daily existence. My edges would droop from sitting in too many lectures, my stomach and thighs fell away at the treadmill. My reflection caught dust in the mirror and always seemed like someone other, convex and stretched and often swollen. I shared a kitchen with nine other people. There were two girls who spent the whole day in there peeling potatoes, like they were apprentice tattie farmers rather than mathematics students.

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Are You the One?

George McDermid

I gave it all,
The goldilocks placing,
Humans racing to find their lead,
To feed on provisions,
More than they could ever need. 

And yet you lie.

Are you the one in mansions
While others die?
Are you the one who’s fighting me,
Placing obstacles at my feet?
Clearing acres of my forest plans
To plan your processed meat?

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ASIANOREXIA

Ana Kauser

I am Asian: a life inviting invasion.
My culture obsessed with weight and appearance
pushes me to this self-inflicted grievance.

When I was a size eighteen; internally I felt obscene.
A shallow culture left me stuck-in-between,
forcing myself into a starvation routine,
surviving each day on the strength of caffeine.

Asian men seek high-class-nice-ass.
Image criteria I could not pass.
My bum had way too much mass,
and all I craved was some sass.

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