The spell to impress your father will
require a freshly crushed emerald.
Green – the holy ingredient of
money and ambition
You don't need a cape
or kid hide gloves
no voodoo dolls,
just a sprinkle of love
and a rusted old pot
with his favourite colour, moss green.
Stand still above the practising pot.
Let the emerald brew in water like tea and
see the steps playing out in your head.
Step 1.
Always mumble 'I love you' into the air above his shoulder.
Even if he doesn't say it back
(be sure to avoid direct eye contact)
Step 2.
Accept his food (or his offering of Mum's food), even when you're about to burst
Step 3.
Say thank you when he reminds you to pay rego, or any other
bills on your list
Step 4.
Ignore the distant disappointment in his eyes
when you sometimes speak.
I want to scrub that look away.
For the other steps I can do.
But the last? It's a book in my heart
my father won't stop reading.
Tell me where 'I'm proud of you' grows,
in a jungle in South America?
I'll go there, I'll traverse the seas
Wiping clean thoughts of
inferiority
My mind, it won't stop jeering at me—'it'll never work'—
But that look is lodged in my brain.
Whenever I feel I'm not good enough
Just tell me where to get the stuff
Hawthorn, hazel, feverfew?
I'll claim them for my nasty magic
till then, repeat my daily nostrum,
just hoping it's a talisman
for that look.
I'll tell myself my identity
doesn't hinge on my parents' approval.
But I'll tweak my Dad's free will until
he believes I'm a worthy investment.
I hated Maths
and failed at Science
My Law degree should be food for the fire
If Dad knew all that when I was a kid,
would he have given up?
believing I'd never amount to much?
...Could you ask him for me?
brb—my potion is bubbling.
YOU ARE READING
Lives Collide
PoetryDo I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes). - 'Song of Myself,' Walt Whitman It's hard to know sometimes who you're meant to be. And that's kind of okay. One day I feel like a witch, another like...
