Being your own sunshine
Being self-reliant is our most powerful human trait, we must find our own rays of sunshine, uncurl the petals of us, however challenging it is to do.
When I first learned to walk, aged three, it was the giant happy flowers at the back of our garden that smiled their sunny strength down at my baby brother and I. Below is my memory, in sort of poem form…
Sunflowers
His grubby hand reaches my felt tipped one, the clammy starfish of it.
The nudge at my back, we wobble a bit.
Mother banishes us from our house again, in favor is another man. I must be his mummy, even though I feel twists in my tummy.
“Come on Bilabah, follow me it’s not that far.”
His baby face cranes up, brown doleful eyes of tears, and teeth clamp to lip to halt my fears.
Through the nettles I lead him, and cuff away his snotty nose, squishing weeds to help protect his threadbare slippered toes.
I get the stings, but I mask them, humming and singing things.
“Come on Bilabah, follow me it’s not that far.”
Down the hidden path we go, though wrestling the weeds makes us slow, and the novelty of new walking, so I encourage with whispering and baby-talking.
“We’re nearly there!” I declare.
It was not that I had forgotten it: the pinched treat in my dungaree pocket. Just must get the timing right, shielding him from our life of blight.
“Come on Bilabah, I promise you it’s not that far.”
He stops to hold a wet- eyed gaze at me, more solemnly than a baby should be.
“Do you remember, the other day, I showed you some real smiles?”
He shakes his face, a funny way, after a little while, he contemplates and slowly nods his head.
And from my pocket I retrieve a tin- foiled treat of strawberry jam and bread.
“We can be like teddy bears, or dinosaurs with fluffy paws” I need to make him cheery, besides this long walk is making him weary.
Beyond the compost heap, I sense a quickening of his tiny feet
He can see them and so can I, yellow friends high up in the sky.
Now we sit right underneath, his real smile and baby teeth.
My words get stuck, so I tickle his feet, we hungrily polish- off our jammy treat.
All aglow are we, beneath our canopy, of happy sunny yellow – our special retreat.
“These are magic yellow flowers, with smiley powers, they glow the sun down for us, Bilabah”
He looks at me, and I at him, and I wipe jam from his dimpled chin.
I wish for his smile to stay this way, even though I know it will go away.
Teach him how to smile inside, fill his heart with love and pride.
So, I take his sticky hands in mine, hoping that he will remember our special time.
“S-u-n-f-l-o-w-e-r say S-u-n-f-l-o-w-e-r Bilabah”
But all he does is chortle dribble and wiggle…
The next day it is rain and drizzle; I must keep us quiet as a mouse- in our unhappy house.
His turn for felt-tipped hands, a gift for me: a bright yellow scribble.
“S-l-u-r-f-o-w-er,” he glees with a rare twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, Bilabah thank you, what a lovely surprise!”
Now you know why I like to wish you SUNNY wishes!
Emma x