First Memories

He is in all of them.

I remember him standing, unsteady,

distressed I was ill,

peering into the lap where I lay

cradled and crying.

His effort to help, showing me picture cards

that I disregarded.

 

I learned to count from the lesson

that his fourth birthday did not, for some reason,

make me three, not for another two months

and I would never catch up with him.

 

Next year he rode off on his tricycle,

outpacing our grandmother,

crossed alone at the traffic lights:

said he just waited till everything stopped,

then knew it was my turn.

 

He built a cart, pulled me around in it

till it overturned,

then was blamed for my tears.

I didn’t mind

once my bruise yellowed.

 

That last long summer

we splashed in the shallows together

naked as frogs, brown as the small fish

that nibbled our toes.

I think for a while he was God to me,

filled my sky.

 

I didn’t cry when he left.

Nobody told me

he would only return for short visits:

nor warned that all seasons

from now on would be colder.

 

by Anne Ballard

 

‘First Memories’ is a Highly Commended poem in the Stepping Stones Nigeria Poetry Competition 2011.