Masterpieces

We were clay, in those early years. You took great care over
Your work, sculpting our minds, our voices. Singing the Seal Lullaby as we closed our eyes and English folk songs to
Rouse our little hearts as we trudged up hills blooming with spring. Drawing worry from every
Slow development and moment of mischief. Dear ones, you moulded

Until the wind whipped us from our beds and
Dragged us, wide-eyed and gasping, into the cold embrace
Of the world. You weren't ready, not really, for your
Masterpieces to be exhibited, but you were

Proud nonetheless. We were crystal then:
Chubby-cheeked and giggly enough to make strangers
Stop and smile on distant streets. Every gold star, every funny antic
Swelled your hearts with cautious joy as you

Displayed your treasures. But then we were
Porcelain, glittering dangerously as we tossed our
Bodies around, oblivious to your winces and cries. The world
Was a battlefield to you then, a storm-strung ocean and you

Saw us losing, drowning, whenever you closed
Your eyes. And then, without warning, we were
Fire burning bright and fast with a transient flame. We lived hard, loved
Harder, drank vodka and danced with strange men and you knew

With an unwelcome certainty that you had to let
Us burn out those middle years into smoke without
Your touch. We were water, elemental and elegantly fierce -

Slipping from your grasp as you clutched for the sound of
Giggles and make-believe, finding only educated
Silence. We flowed free and vibrant in gorges forged through
Windy walks and dancing on tables in teashops, shaking water from our

Coats. And then, when we were iron, self-assured, on the cusp
Of moulding our own masterpieces in our eager hands, we held you, glass and
Goodbyes before us, and sang the Seal Lullaby as you closed your eyes, our
Voices drifting away gently into the night.