On days like these

By Laura Coleman

Sam thinks of Sophie as she cleans:
Her stumbling steps and gap-toothed smiles,
Giggles, gurgles, hugs.
At times, those dreams of Sophie keep 
The horrors of the hospital 
At bay: the distant wails, alarms,
The sudden rush of staff.

At other times, they don't. On days
Like these, Sam keeps her head down,
Blinks away the sting of
Chemicals, the strip lights
Bleaching her skin grey.
With wrists in grinding agony,
Fingers nearly numb, 
She strains to stay awake:
Spray and scrub, scrub and spray.

A plastic cup of tasteless tea,
A drive at dawn, then 
Home. Sophie’s up, comes running, 
Head down, jammy toast gripped fast 
In her tiny fist. Then, 
Splat. A blob of strawberry gloop
Hits Sam's foot, soaks through fabric,
Warms the skin.  

They stare together, all is still. Till
Sophie jabs a finger in
And smears it mouth to ear,
Grins stickily.
Sam gets a fingerful, 
Dabs some on Sophie’s nose, 
The rest on hers. They point
And laugh, look up,
And race each other to

The open jar, 
And tip it out 
And scoop it up 
And tear about the room.
Smudging windows with handprints,
Streaking floorboards with footprints,
They undo all that's scrubbed and sprayed
And paint the house red.

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Written Word ‘Hand’ poems