written in the winters of 2023.

The past’s shadow colours this life,

A stomach-full of giggles with the sip of mom’s white wine,

A scrunch of the nose at the taste of dad’s rum, sun-patches that

Warm the wooden floor that holds a thousand pieces of lego,

Fingers sticky with honey and warm milk,

Swimming, against all warnings, after eating

A large packet of French fries with ketchup,

‘You are not invincible!’ Mom bellows as we duck

Through the cabinets to play hide-go-seek,

Yes, mom, we know. 

Chilly wind brings the colourful jumpers,

Sweet milk tea warms our faces,

We jump into the hot bath and try not to pluck,

As we walk through the woods, the pretty flowers,

The TV plays Tom and Jerry and my counterpart snores away,

I tuck myself between my parents and in the quiet night away from the world,

I feel sparks of golden magic.

At three in the morning, 

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,

No one appears, at three in the afternoon,

We sprint through the fields, ‘Mum! The neighbour's dog hates us!’

Skinned knee-caps and chipped teeth, there is a bruise on my neck,

A bump on your head, cooling salve and hot turmeric milk,

‘You kids are not invincible!’ Mom scolds, I smile faintly behind the mug,

Yes mom, we know.