I was given a gift yesterday for doing a job I had been paid for.
Here’s the low down:
I stood in awe as she passed me over the huge present bag.
Thank you. This is for you to say thank you for everything”.
“Really, there’s no need…I was just…”
“No. Thank you for you know…” as she motioned behind her towards her 16 year old son.
I stumbled out of their house in utter shock. I knew why I had been given that gift, not because I had just been helping her son but because this woman was kind, thoughtful, and appreciated my efforts. She wanted me to know that she knew I had struggled at times, that even if her son didn’t pass, that she appreciated I’d tried to give him some kind of focus and a better opportunity to take responsibility for his future.
I felt tearful walking down that hill away from their house. This woman is a single mother living in London and working countless hours during the week to support her son and she went out of her way to buy a completely unnecessary gift.
It wasn’t until I spoke to my mum that I realised why; I was humbled by the gesture of how much I had touched this lovely woman’s life. And now, I guess, how much they both touched mine and shaped the last 5 months of my life.
Something a little different for tonight:
ripping apart of the conflict poetry
of Wilfred Owen and E.E.Cummings
led me to power points and staged readings
of the epic language penned over centuries.
You would rather wander into the world according to you,
where basketball doesn’t give you cramp
and English isn’t needed to be passed in order for you to analyse newspaper clippings and scrutinize audience appeal.
The door squeaks open
and with it brings a bustle of fabric, hardly heard feet, and the lingering smells of a weekend feast.
Arabic lined walls
and an air of determination
linger to encourage me to encourage you
to access that creative, day dream-ful mind of yours.
Tap into the precious amber sap
fill your pen with it’s ink and write write write.
© LE Purse
3rd June 2014