Masthead

Tedium

I park the green car in the rain and go in the red door to collect my child:
My child whose face is a white petal detaching and fluttering toward me.
I park the green car under the clouds and go in the red door for my child:
My child whose dark hair falls over her head as she bends to her drawing.
I park the green car in the tight sun and go in the red door to collect my child:
My child deep in a cluster of children sticking colored paper to paper:
My child who shouts out: Can I finish this first? I am thinking about divorce.
I park the green car in the sun and go in the red door to collect my child:
My child who hurtles toward me / I swing her around / then Yang-Yang hurtles towards me /
I swing Yang-Yang round / Her father is coming in nine days to take her.
I park the green car in the rain and go in the red door for my child:
My child who stands by the wall in the gymnasium with the other wallflowers hanging her head.
I park the green car in the rain and go in the red door for my child:
My child pounding the floor of the gymnasium with her strong little calves.
I park the green car in the sun and go in the red door for my child:
My child who is not in the cafeteria / and not in the gymnasium / and not in the first playground
But there—in the kindergarten playground on the slide—upside down is my child.
I park the green car in the sky and go in the red door for my child:
My child whose face is a white petal detaching and fluttering towards me.

Mairéad Byrne

>>>Traditional Irish Poem

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