Written for the memory of a little girl - I wonder if she remembers me?
I remember her little pink
sneakers,
The bubble-gum perfume of her
uncut hair,
The fake cake in her little
plastic kitchen.
She didn’t ask for much
But I felt as if she loved me
like a stand-in mother,
Even if 7 years was all that
separated us.
How did I, who fears the
innocent enthusiasm,
The innocent ignorance,
these tiny breakable humans,
manage to entertain her
without losing my nerve?
We’d roam a carpeted farmyard,
Herding blank-eyed sheep into
plastic pens,
Candy-pink pigs and polo mint
chickens.
They didn’t make animals
noises
But in those moments
they were reality in
miniature.
I could hear their gentle
brooding clucks,
Smell fresh bread and rich
sausage
Through the anaemic plastic
shells
