Each year, after Christmas
My parents would take
Each other to task over
The chore of packing up
Everything not nailed down
Into our creaking old VW
And setting out at 3am
On Boxing Day
To avoid the traffic
We drove West for hours
My sister snoring on the
Seat beside me
Much as I preferred her
Not one of nature’s
Easy travellers
But asleep she could pass
For serene, with each
Sodium street-lit flash
Kissing features that appeared
Sepia in the grainy dawn
After the Welcome Break
On the M4
At which we never stopped
Not even to pee
In spite of the signs
Telling drivers to rest
I would gaze at my own
Reflection in the window
Floating in everlasting colour
As the sun started to rise
At our backs
I held my breath
The radio crackled and died
As we entered the stretch
Of pinkish sky
And perfect clouds
That was the magic
Of this annual pilgrimage
To pay our respects
To our grandfather
On the occasion of
His birthday
Not always a fun visit
Gruff Canadian vowels
Growling over Windsor soup
Politics stripped barer
Than the carcass
Of yesterday’s bird
Generational clashes
Building to harsh sighs
Raised voices, clenched fists
Home-made meat pie
And Leftovers Lunch
Heavy cutlery scraping plates
Across the carpet-swaddled
Mahogany table
With its uncomfortable
Striped-cushion chairs
Too little padding
For limbs young and old
Then after pudding
Each year the same
Banoffee cake
With brown, squishy
Bits of banana
Stuck across the top
Instead of icing
While all the family
Tiptoed, grimacing
Around the bald patch
In the carpet
Rubbing uncomfortable elbows
Through the chilly, dusty rooms
Of a neglected house
Half-way up a hillside
In the middle of nowhere
I would sit on his lap
And tell him about it
The way we drove
To visit him
Eyes shining
Through the rosy dawn
And the point where
We passed over the sky
Learn more about Katherine on our Contributors’ Page.
(Photo: simpleinsomnia/flickr.com/ CC BY-SA 2.0)
- We passed over the sky by Katherine Shirley - December 23, 2021