The clock strikes 5:15 AM,
its echo folding into the quiet,
a soft breath before the world stirs.
Outside, shadows cling to the air,
light still unsure of itself.
Inside, a scent rises,
sharp and sweet,
like the past calling my name.
It’s the taste of Drink O Pop,
its powdered tang dissolving
into the hollow of my tongue.
And there, in its sweetness,
a bottle resurfaces—plastic, worn,
its mouth stained with the residue of
sugar-water mornings.
Tsumeb comes alive:
the streets smell of sun-baked earth,
heat pooling like a second skin.
My fingers curl around the phantom bottle,
its shape too small now for my hands,
but still it holds me,
still it carries the taste of care
from hands that poured it for me.
A photograph lies folded,
but this bottle feels more alive—
its edges soft with use,
its weight light but heavy
with the echoes of laughter
I didn’t know I’d miss.
The thread of memory unspools,
and I follow it back
to where the mornings smelled of rust,
where the sweetness of Drink O Pop
masked the bitterness of wanting more—
more time, more connection,
more of what I didn’t know to ask for.
At 5:15 A.M., I wake,
and the bottle is gone,
but its shape lingers,
pressed into the fabric of me.
Every morning,
it pours me back into myself,
one sip of memory at a time.
Jedidja Kakuva is a Namibian data professional and aspiring writer. They are currently studying mathematics and physics at NSSCO level while developing a financial management platform aimed at supporting small and medium enterprises in Namibia. This is their first publication.