last night,
while wrapping birthday gifts for
...what do I call him?
he's not my husband...
my Fellow, my Man, my Ol' Pot an' Pan,
Or just Jordan.....?
anyhows,
it was late
a hushed house, just great
after chaos of half-term and Hallowe'en
me keen
to find some space to breathe.
the others,
upstairs, tucked up
- except the cat who seeks me out
when no one else is about,
making it tiresome to wrap.
He sits on e v e r y t h i n g,
He scraps
wi' the ribbon and string
puts his hairy feet
on paper I am trying to keep neat
cos I have some sort of wrapping OCD.
He purrs stubbornly, dogged insistence
cos
it's his turn for attention
now everyone's sleepin'.
I hiss 'Go away Romulus'
and then
from up the stair I hear a tumble of feet
and a musically sweet voice saying purposefully,
"What is mummy doing down there?"
and a daddy whispers attentively
she's wrapping,
gently reminds her it's his birthday in the morning,
on Bonfire Day.
I hear
the toilet door
the tumble of feet once more.
I get a drink of water
and on the fridge door
I spot a photo of Arion, aged four?
and Olive, a year, mebbes*?
Both naked, tottie faces upturned and nesh,
a sister in a brother's protectin' embrace
just out of a bath,
Arion's hair long, gold, in curls and
I have a pang in my heart.
Now his hair is short, you see,
and waxed.
And when I go to bed -
much too late I'm afraid-
sibilant puffs o' peaceful breath from those asleep.
And in the dark
I find Olive in my place,
and I squeeze her leg, a thigh strong
and I think, 'God, is that Olive? She's so LONG ! '
and I remember when she was just wee
and how her warm form
curled in my nook.
and I remind myself to remind myself of that.
Precious little ones stretchin', pushin' up.
an' I remind myself to remind myself that
when it's half-bloody-term
an' I have an urge to escape
cos I need a bloody break
yes I need a bloody break,
they are not wee for long
and I'll miss their littleness when its gone.
*maybe, perhaps
image by s.c.