Page 47 - WTP Vol. V #1

karEn QuEVillon
In the days of jelly sh
In the days when you drew me with your little voice Mama! Mama!
I ran to you.
Waited, wide-eyed and humbled
to witness each new thought claim your face.
Let me not forget the milky scent of your breath as you slept with your head on my shoulder. You were afraid of other people;
My arms were the safest place to be.
In the days when you pulled me with your little hands Please, please!
I followed your footprints.
Picked up after you, spoke for you,
tested your meals in my mouth, like king’s court jester.
You learned to write the letters M-O-M, that strange palindrome,
and I let you sprinkle croutons on your porridge when you asked for crunch. When you weren’t looking I untangled your shoelaces.
Your favourite colour was “turquoised”.
In the days when you pulled me with your giant’s will Hide and seek! Hide and seek!
I ran along with you.
Played along, except on the day
I had a headache. And didn’t want to play.
Hid in a closet where you couldn’t find me and even the dog couldn’t find me.
But the worry in your small, wondering voice made me sneeze once or twice
until you found me. My eye was crying wet – Stinging? You diagnosed:
a jellyfish had sat on it.
Quevillon has published poetry, short ction, creative non c- tion, reviews, and articles in a range of publications, including The Fieldstone Review, Prick of the Spindle, Geist Magazine, The Bull Calf Review, Philosophy Now, and Cargo Literary.
38