Kate Garrett

 

 

Growing Like a

He spins in wide circles
to shake the surging
neurons in his head.

Before this, I’d said:
You’re growing like a weed!

He said to stop saying he’s growing
like a weed, he said
he’s not like a weed at all.
He said weeds are bad, unwanted.

And that was when
my son started spinning.

So now he spins.

I say: No sweetheart, no, it’s
because weeds grow fast. And not
all weeds are bad: nettle tea,
dandelion wine, and clover smells
sweet in late summer sunshine.

He stops, and looks at me.

I say: you couldn’t be
more wanted. You’re sweet
like clover blossoms, and make
me feel lucky like a clover
with four leaves, too.

Then he smiles.

(smiles: bright, common,
but suddenly beautiful,
like the first dandelion
heads in May)

I love you too, Mum.

My son hugs me

(hugs: rare, special,
also like four leaf clovers)

and I must reconsider
my use of simile and metaphor.

 

 

Kate Garrett grew up in Ohio, but has lived in the UK since 1999. Her poetry and flash fiction have been published online and in print. She lives in Sheffield, where she studies Creative Writing at Sheffield Hallam University.

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