Love at eight
A horrid little brat for days,
all spit and sass,
tripping your brother,
a note from your teacher,
you even called me fool.
Next morning you dressed
and redressed three times,
splashed on your father’s aftershave,
tucked a wallet in your pocket.
When you opened your notebook,
a page of red and turquoise hearts
and stars spilled out–
I thought for me–
until I saw Cora Cora Cora
in your neatest hand.
Love! Why hadn’t I thought of that?
I was just your age when Jeffrey John Jasper
showed me how to play wild horses:
if the cowboys caught us
they got to corral us.
I outran all the boys until
the day I figured it out.
Valentine’s Day Jeffrey gave me
a one-dollar card that said love.
I kept secret until recess,
when two girls showed me
identical cards signed JJJ.
You tilt your head at the mirror,
and homilies swarm to my mind.
I wave them and the waft
of English Leather away and say,
Mmm, don’t you smell nice.
“Being at home can be fun, insulating, relaxed, boring or isolating ... depending on how the day is going.”*
School holidays are almost over in my part of the world – six long weeks of noise and squabbling balanced by hot, lazy days at the beach or the pool with lots of daring exploits and laughter. Many of our days were spent at home, basking in simple pleasures like baking, playing games or outdoor pursuits – trying to relax the everyday routines of school-morning bustle and ‘having to be somewhere on time’. However pleasant, I must admit to being relieved that life gets back to normal next week, and I can reclaim some of my own time for writing again!
* From Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007