Today’s piece is an anonymously written poem.
I was looking for presents ahead of time – a crime,
sacred secrets! – yet I had to know
if there was any sign of hope for me
in Mummy’s furnishings that advent time.
My doubts were confirmed, and worse. Instead
of shiny shapes for me, dull bottles full
were there, laid bare. I scrabbled for meanings
that wouldn’t dare proclaim that special dread
and settled for him. She’d hidden the bottles from him –
he who thundered down in the bath that time,
remember (and staggered with a silly smile
in front of Debs and grabbed her on a whim).
In May it was SHE who staggered, SHE who fell
over the coffee table, crashing down
with the supper tray. But of course we still loved her,
though she brought chaos to us all.