Pockets of Memories for a Rainy Day
I come home from work one day
A million thoughts running through my mind
Decide to silence them by drowning myself in the news of the day
Papa
Soup
I made it for you
Interrupted
Am tempted to tell Leanne
that I'd drink it later
For some reason I don't
I put the papers aside
Pick up the tiny plastic cup
Place it close to my lips
Suck the air in it
Invisible soup
I wonder what I should say
I manage: "Mmmm. Very nice."
A smile lights up on Leanne's face
And immediately I find it remarkable how much this means to her
I don't feel comfortable dressing up Barbie
Struggling to find the right pair of shoes
Deciding which dress best suits it (ok her)
Not my talent really
Am tempted to tell Leanne
that maybe it'd be better to "play Barbie with Mama"
For some reason I don't
I hold Barbie up in the air
Mimic a girly voice
And play on with enthusiasm
I like admiring Art
But I was never too fond of doing Art
Leanne has made two clay fish
She wants me to paint one with her
Am tempted to tell her to paint both by herself
For some reason I don't
I do my best painting my clay fish.
As I lay down on the bed
deeply engrossed in the woes of Brian Jackson
Soft furry blows rain on my face blinding me momentarily
Brian Jackson is forgotten
A waft of dettol irritates my already sensitive nose
I realise that Leanne has decided to puff powder on my face
A jab of pain hits my scalp
I realise that Ashlyn has decided to plant a clip
where my hair is shortest
One of them
I can't remember who
Crowns me with a hairband
So small it scratches past my forehead
Ashlyn loses interest and walks off
Leanne laughs hysterically and pushes the hairband further back
Am tempted to get angry
For some reason I don't
I ask Leanne, "Do I look like a Princess now?"
Encouraged she grabs a pink scarf
Insists that I lift my head
And wraps it around my neck
Am hot and so uncomfortable
Am tempted to unwrap it
For some reason I don't
Leanne loses interest and walks off
And I lay there
Feeling
like
the wolf
in Grandma's clothing
Awaiting
Little Red Riding Hood.
These are pockets of memories...
That I have learnt serve a grander purpose
For some reason when things get too difficult
For some reason when someone has had enough
For some reason when someone needs some space
For some reason when the voice of a four-year-old is
the only sensible voice that echoes:
"What will happen to this house?"
The grander purpose is revealed
These pockets of memories
Will serve their purpose.
