Offspring

Walking back home early morning,
Neon colours that worked the night before,
Become a garish excess

In this city by the sea,
Dawn is often the strongest smelling,
More raw and real than anything else

At home, my father is up now,
Gently putting together brass, stone and flowers
Basking in the mellow comforts of routine and worship

The mosquito net is gently pulled back on his side of the bed,
My mother drifting in and out of sleep mumbles the time
And rubs her ankles

She is up before she knows it,
Twenty nine years of early morning tea
Get the better of her

Her eyes are distant,
Disentangled from last night’s television
Away from everything she has ever written, sung or given shape to

Her mornings are as fragrant as her,
Completely secure in knowing what to do
She starts piecing her puzzle together

She pulls aside the curtains in each room
Father’s soft chants fade away
As harsher sounds of daybreak are allowed to enter

Mother is chased by typical morning dilemmas,
The kitchen has to serve up more than just breakfast
Before the house is empty again

Father eventually puts his world in order,
Papers, keys, tie are quietly in place
Eyes fleeting from newspaper to the clock

All their lives they have striven for this,
An unadulterated morning arithmetic
Put in place by discipline, health and beliefs

Surrounded by the subtle assurance of purity sacrosanct
And then I insert my key, slowly prying the door open
Violating the pious air of mornings at home

I make small talk, I suddenly notice how old they are getting
Feeling this strong urge to hold on to them,
I want to comfort them with words of affection

But I look elsewhere and plan my day ahead
Ruthlessly I bring together gadgets and work schedules
Not being able to look at this new place I have found myself in the eye

Where they look at their ‘middle class’ daughter
And think about how she was earlier
Free from all her anomalies and accusations