Frothy Milk

by Mhairi-Claire Lynch

You can’t remember, so I’ll remind you.

Remember when we put strainers on

Our heads

And at Halloween we had bread and

Gravy in a small bowl for dinner because

mum wasn’t in.

Remember how we would make you stay and

Sing us songs before bed;

And you would tell us about life and god and monsters and men.

Remember god.

Your faith and your religion.

Your chord trousers and grey comb.

A cigarette with a latte. Remember when

You gave me the frothy milk.

Now it’s all changed hasn’t it.

It isn’t all different.

But we have switched.

Now I help you hold the knife and fork.

No more long chats.

‘Do you know where your mum is?’

‘She is working’

‘Your mum works?’

I turned 21.

I know you only want to know what is going on in this

Weird place you’ve Found yourself in.

I walk behind you and it is a slow,

Careful walk.

Your back is slightly hunched.

But your eyes are still

Your eyes.

‘Why are we not allowed outside?’

Now it’s all changed hasn’t it.

‘Those really are amazing animals’

I realise you won’t be at my wedding.

Now you drink half wine and half water; still

Red but not as sure of itself as it once was.

I keep waiting to realise my grief but it is stubborn.

I’m arguably in denial.

I miss you.

I know you are here but

The dad I had isn’t here anymore.

Not really.

I still love the dad in front of me.

But I miss you.

It’s all changed a bit hasn’t it?

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