Our Pet Mother
If only she would come down
from the mountain and be
like one of the chinchillas
Mr Chapman spent eleven years coaxing,
we would wrap her in iced black sheets
just like he did
until she got used to the sun.
Then we would build a cage
right here in our bedroom,
tempt her with titbits of roots,
alfalfa and bark,
give her a tray of white sand
to keep her cool.
Each night we'd promise
to lift up the latch,
let her hop onto the carpet
and watch as she ricocheted
from wall to wall.
Then we would catch her and cup her
in the palms of our hands,
sink our fingers
into her plush grey fur
and feel her quiver. She'd be
so so soft we would almost drown.
Maggie Sawkins lives in Portsmouth and delivers creative writing projects in community settings. Her live literature production "Zones of Avoidance" won the 2013 Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry. Her most recent poetry collection, Many Skies Have Fallen, is published by Wild Mouse Press. You can find her here: www.hookedonwords.me.