You asked me once, mother, where I got my new clothes. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged, brushing away the question as nothing with a mere utterance of ‘a friend’.
You asked me twice, mother, where I went every night, day, and afternoon. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. The question was nothing to me, ‘a friend’s house’, I would mutter.
You asked me thrice, mother, where my spark went, my vitality, my animation. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. You’d never guess, but the question meant nothing to me. I’d smirk, smile and wave a hand, ‘You’re mad mother, I’ve always said.’
You asked me four times, mother, when I’d come home. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. I turned my back and shook my head, striding away into the darkness of the doorway. ‘I’m not, mother, don’t you see?
You asked me once, father, why I wouldn’t visit. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. I’d never realise, but that question meant something to me. ‘Whenever,’ I replied.
You asked me once, mother, if I ever cared. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. ‘Of course, mother, how could I not?’ The lie was easy then.
You asked me once, father, what I would like. I smiled sadly at you and shrugged. ‘Anything, daddy, anything,’ I whispered. You’d never guess, but that question meant the world to me.
On my windowsill there sits a vase. It is dark in colour, blue and gold. Light shines past it, casting deep shadows across the wall opposite. Where it sits, it sits alone. The vase gets pride of place in my home, unlike you. You never got that special place, not in the physical world. The only place you ever won was my heart, mother. You had that special place, there and there alone. That vase, filled with lilies, is all I have of you, mother.
You asked me once, mother, what you gave me. I smiled sweetly at you and shrugged. I didn’t know this then, but ‘Mummy, you gave me my life, my world, my heart’. You’ll never know, but that question is the only thing that matters to me.
Just like you, mother.
Stumble!