Oh, Little One.

Today has been made from undulating length. There are still a few traces of clay mud on my feet. Between the toes and just underneath my right ankle. My wife will see my white vest—even after has been through the wash— and tell me I shouldn’t wear it, but I’ll wear it. I’ll wear it amongst the sartorial parade. Unshowered. Unshaven. Amidst the peacocks. Your brothers and sisters are doing well…





It took me longer than I had hoped to get to the place I wanted to be. The children stood around me whilst I dug the hole. They wanted to see you when I carried you outside so I sat beside you and smoked three cigarettes, stroking the side of your face, until they got bored. As children do. So I wrapped you in a towel. The children watched me fill in the hole. Playing games behind me. I thought I was ready when I came back inside and sat down to smoke some more cigarettes, but the children were at the gate. They handed me sweets and mulberries. I said thank you. They left to get more and came back. So I told them I was going to sleep. 


That’s when I got to where I needed to be. I had hoped to be there with you, but I’ve lived long enough to know the double-edge of romantic wishes. As soon as I closed the door on the outside world, and your brothers and sisters, I was there. Soaked in my own sweat, muddy, exhausted, allowed to be. My own dogs sprawled on the floor throughout the house. I had wanted to weep for you all day, but life wouldn’t allow it. 


I am surprised at how much grief I felt today. We barely met. I will feel something similar when your brothers and sisters get picked up tomorrow. They all have homes. Two of them will stay together. It would have been three of you. It won’t be the same though. Not the feeling. I won’t be here anyhow. The wife can deal with tomorrow. Today was enough. 


It’s important for me that I don’t turn this in to a negative. It’s between you and I. I have a habit of ranting and raving. Delving into the psychological undertow of why we are who we are. I’m trying to let that go, and you should sleep peacefully. But before I go, I do just want to say I’m sorry. I’d love to say I don’t know why people do what they do, but I do. I’m sorry for how it went. I tried, mate.  


   

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