Mother Poem by Ballerina With Fins

sitting in the warm comfort
of our home, i squabble
with my little sister over your
newly-baked
apple pie, while putting all
knowledge of algebra
and geometry and whatsoever
out of my head.

i like sitting in this old
room, scattered with my
old kiddy books and old
kiddy memories of
happy things.
even if it's to study
for another examination.
but biology doesn't go
with teddy bears and
googoo dolls;
i daydream.

Then you come in,
all handsonhips
and
frownlines. It's too
late to be studying (or in
my case, trying to but
pathetically failing) !
I (apparently) should
be in bed. Or else
I (apparently) will be
grouchy tomorrow. i giggle.
tuck me in, mommy, like
you used to. You grumble.

i don't care how silly
you feel kissing a twenty-year-old
goodnight. come on. your defences
crumble and sighing, you
give me a feeble peck. i
return it with a huge bear
hug and grin like the
(crazy) cheshire cat, the
big cresent moon
gleaming in the dark.

i breathe in your warm
talcum powder smell of
apple pies in the oven,
of rainydays, of
fairy tales and hide-and
-seek in the dark and
mother, i think i couldn't
possiblyfeel any more at
Home.