We wake. Or
rather, I wake, and find you looking at me.
I ask,
“What are you looking at?”
You say,
shifting off your elbow, to lie back again, “I was not looking. I thought there
was a mosquito,”
Smile.
It is
morning and the house is still quiet. I want to lean in until my breath is
tickling your ear and I can see myself in your eyes.
My stomach
tightens as I feel your fingers stroking tufts of my hair and I try not to
sigh.
You say,
“Lie still.”
I ask,
“Would you?”
“You never
listen,” you complain, as you try to squirm my chin off your shoulder.
I ask, “Do
you want me to?” looking for your lips.
“I’ll crush
them,” you laugh, and I can’t see the sunlight trying to make its way through
the curtains. Only you.
“What are
you looking at?” You ask.
“I’m trying
to watch the TV,” I say.
“The TV is
not on,” you’re laughing again. The juice foams noisily in the jar as you shake
it.
“It must be
very cold,” I say, “I’m surprised there’s electricity today. Someone must have
forgotten to switch off.”
“There’s
even some ice,” you say, filling four glasses, “What should we do today?”
“We should
go to the gardens,” I propose. The corners of your lips crinkle into a smile,
“The real gardens,” I add, “Or walk.”
Mark and
Ian are playing balloon volleyball in the road, “Ian twirls like a dancer,” you
laugh, lunging forward , to punch back into the air, the balloon floating towards
us.
Mark
screams, “Mummy! Here!”
“I should
take a picture of you,” you say, but don’t move. Mark is asleep in the crook of
my arm and Ian is insisting on trying to find room in my lap too with his
Strawberry yoghurt can he will not place down for a moment.
“You could
help me,” I frown, sitting up a dozing Ian in the tub, as I scrub his armpits,
but you don’t put the camcorder down.
I’m turning
out the lights, when I find you, in the blue glow of the silent TV, curled
where I sit, smiling.
~~~This Charming Life-Joan Armatrading ~~~
♥
