Once again it's time to post a poem. It's Poetry Thursday again. I have tried to plonk the pretty Poetry Thursday button as a link on my blog, but I don't think it's worked ... may have to call in the experts to help me.
Anyway. Here is this week's poem:
They’re good girls,
they do as they’re told
and listen to their mother because
she’s on her own and always looks worried,
her hair pulled back into an S-shaped ponytail.
As they sit on a seat and wait for the bus,
they swing their feet above the footpath’s black
asphalt. Their mother lights up. I see it all
through the window of ‘Chipmunks’
where my granddaughter
has her face painted. She appears,
pleased with her cat-face, black and glittered
with gold. I look for her
under the paint but recognise only
her voice and the surprise of her eyebrows.
It is still Wednesday here, so I am cheating a little on the Poetry Thursday - however it is only half an hour until it's tomorrow, and Thursday ...
Today I posted off the manuscript for my second collection of poetry. It is a huge relief to get it off and away. However at the same time I feel a little bereft. It is not unlike all your children leaving home.
Now I shall have to busy myself with another writing project.
Tomorrow I am meeting my daughter after work. I will go with her to pick up my granddaughter from school. After that I am meeting up with a friend for dinner in town. She has come down from the North Island for a few days in Dunedin. We were at high school together, so we have been friends for forty years now.
I feel tired and ready for an early night after two short sleeps. I feel blagh with a head cold. I feel a little lonely because ABM is away all this week. But one good thing - even though I should be feeling old, I don't.