Long Sleeves
Issue No. 5: Stressed Out!
Words - Shanthy Milne
“What happened, Mummy?”
Stumble trip, stumble trip, stumble trip.
“Did you go on a bear hunt?”
I must not lie…I must not lie…I must not lie…
His feather-light fingers trace my scars
And a magical metamorphosis deploys;
Vroom vroom come the holistic reverberations
As his cars speed over the bumps.
His lens of magic-realism bestowing its purpose
On the wounds of my melanin roads.
His cars continue onwards,
And his inquiries are lost in play.
Unencumbered by the signposts of troubles past,
He has gifted me with another day.
I eavesdrop on diggers and dinosaurs,
And count the footfalls of his elephants’ march.
Through the innocence of his language I search
For the words that might help me to explain:
Self-preservation demanded its pound of flesh
And I did my part to conceal the pain.
Long sleeves, hot summers, and lies…
Shuffling feet bring me back to the moment,
And the bounty he fails to conceal:
A smuggled orange begging to be discovered
If only so it can be justly devoured.
“Big sharp knife, Mummy! Big sharp knife!”
He squeals in anticipation of the escaping juices
And the sweet offerings of their release.
While I choke on memories of a sanguinary trickle
That once held a similar promise, juxtaposed.
“Touch the sharp bit, Mummy,”
“No baby, it might hurt,”
Or heal.
Some things are best left undisclosed.
I soiled my body and kicked dust over it
But this sleeping dog will be left to lie.
“Baby, I fell...” I’ll begin one day, with no idea still, where I will end.
