Personal poems & images

Butter Dish

I watched your pretty red lips in the rear view mirror

Little ghost of a girl

tapping my lunchbox handle

to the beat of the windscreen wipers

You talked about the neighbour’s Tupperware party

And how you couldn’t really afford that butter dish you bought there

I remember thinking it was the most beautiful object

And wising it could sit on my bedroom windowsill 

Later, you’d keep for best, at Christmas or Easter

Later still, you’d leave it in the cupboard

And use a plastic margarine tub 

To lower your cholesterol

Now I’m mother

And we eat butter every day from that dish

And I remember your pretty red lips in the rear view mirror