1 July: Family is visiting. First time we’ve seen the grandchildren (except for video calls) in 3-years. Forgive me if I don’t read and reply to friends’ posts. Things are rather busy around here.
He
wants broccoli and cauliflower.
And anything
red, he says.
Not tomatoes.
We shall buy strawberries.
And maybe a little red car.
She
who arrives full
of sleep, clinging to her
papa’s neck as she turns her head,
Nana, she says.
They
The girl is 4.
Her voice is a menthol breeze,
laughter rippling like errant wind.
Or maybe peaches.
She has a colouring book
and a rainbow of pens,
and a doll with blue hair.
She prefers cake every day.
Her brother is 3.
He talks to his dinosaurs.
Roars at bushes.
Jumps about and bumps his head.
He says he’s Spiderman
because he has sticky fingers.
On Fridays he prefers cookies.
His sister wears purple.
Her brother wears red.
I am the old woman in the middle.
They call me Nana.
©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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