You’ll Always Heal
It was shortly after I broke my bedroom window with a cricket ball, which by the way wasn’t my fault, my little sister threw like a girl and I swung a bat like a boy, and it wasn’t my fault that she didn’t catch the ball when I threw it back a tiny bit too hard when that ball nearly hit me in the head. I mean it wasn’t my fault that she threw like a girl and couldn’t catch. Mum took our ball and bat away, and told us to find a more girlie game to play, which is what you were expected to do in the 1950s, so we said Yes, Mum, and then rode our bikes to the forest about 5 miles away, and caught minnows with our bare hands. Bagged them up for the neighbour’s cat to eat. We loitered around the creek, splashed about, and ate blackberries and stained our fingers with their ripeness. In no rush to do anything, until the sun started to set. And then we slowly headed back home. Those were the days, when Khrushchev banged his shoes on the table, the telly was never turned on until dinner dishes were washed-up and put away, and we kids played outside in all weather, pushed our limits, fell out of trees and broke bits of ourselves – but we always healed, and that’s what we learned. Get up, and have a go. You’ll always heal.
Blue dragonflies float
On the breath of Sussex sheep
I wrote a letter home
Image is from Unsplash – Boston Public Library, 1950. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021