This tale is about reminiscing – imagine a woman, maybe in her 60s or 70s – thinking back to her childhood & the family house…
I remember, the boy who came to tea
It was many years gone by
When we still gathered on a Sunday
Around the carefully laid table
And Mum would pour from the gilded tea-pot.
The boy had pink hair!
There was a diamond-like stud
Worn as an ear ring
And mascara on his lashes.
In that shimmering crystal, the sun reflected
And in miniature, we were displayed.
Hands folded in laps, teacups in saucers
And not looking at his painted nails
His nails were on the table
Black polish too.
It was cracked and chipped
But he seemed pleased, with that.
Dad roared later.
He held his temper well
Sipping tea and eating cake
With such hostility iced over
In delightful smiles.
As Mum folded away the tablecloth
Masie and I washed-up.
Taking care to clean the china
And not make any chips
In the painted on flowers.
It all went back into the dresser
Neat, clean, stored away
Until another Sunday tea.
I remember, at the table
Some small detail, just now
The gilded edge of the cups
Not yet worn, but
Held against that boy’s soft pink lips.
He laughed so gladly, so easily
And as my brother passed over the plate
Filled with neatly cut sandwiches, in squares and triangles –
Their hands, briefly touched.
My brother flushed and
There was a moment when all he could do was stare
At the long thick lashes of the boy
With pink hair.
Hope you liked it! I actually wrote this with the intention of reading it aloud at a poetry open mic – hope I get the chance soon…