I remember the time my mother;
her belly big without eating,
and my dad; his grin big
added another page
to the family book.
This, I hoped, would be
the last page.
My sister whispering,
“She’s knocked up.”
My granny, not whispering,
“Hush up, girl!”
“You’re going to have a baby brother,”
my mother says… exhausted.
“He’d better not touch my toys,”
I say… angrily.
And, as if on cue, my dad yells,
My sister yawning into my room,
“Are they coming back?”
I know they are. They did before;
four times before. It’s what parents do
when other kids, who look like you,
come and eventually mess with your toys.
And when mom and dad come back,
grinning and smiling, they’ll be happy,
but it won’t last long. It never does.
Mom and dad finally shut it down,
we’re now six… four boys, two girls.
We fight like cats and dogs
but my granny quickly says…
Love doesn’t mind an occasional bumpy road
Love doesn’t mind an occasional tear or two
Love doesn’t mind an occasional cross word
Real love perseveres
Love doesn’t have to be
quiet or peaceful.
It just has to be…
© 2017, Gregory Shipman. All rights reserved.
The author has granted WritersCarnival.ca, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.