OUR LITTLE LADY OF THE FLOWERS

Just got in the afternoon door
Rainy snowy day Aldi run
Got up to just round the corner
head bowed, black hood 
drip drop dripping water and weariness
Saw a stay-at-home mother
unloading her baby from 
the child seat in the back of the car
As her other daughter, probably three, 
seen from behind, stood waiting
patiently for mum in a lovely
wee pink sturdy waterproof jacket

and stompclompy mini pink wellies.
She had a wee white flower bunch
clutched in her very responsible hand
and turned to watch her world, blonde, pretty,
and it was one of those moments
where you just instantly catch a vivid
snapshot of a day in the neighbour life
And you wonder to yourself, as the 
baby comes out into the anointing rain,
if the wee yin has the flowers for granny,
or why she has them, secret purposes,
cures for the blues of a relative somewhere.
And sometimes, in the right light,
in the right rain and snow,
you suddenly remember 
another time and place, 
different faces, different linguistics,
different ethics, and you feel that 
familiar melancholic underskin throb
start to bubble up in your nostalgia-attacked heart
and you batten down those therapeutic hatches
just as quickly as you possibly can
and wander on round the corner out of the rain
singing The Dictators to yourself

“My my my my my my my heart is calling
Won’t you stay with me?”
And looking forward to getting and staying
dry and warm and happy
forever, and to a less dreich day.

END