Every night, like clockwork,
boiling water carefully bottled
and brought to my cold feet,
hiding under a soft crisp blanket.
A kerosene warmth running through my soles to soul —
Never a night I am not devoted
for to this reminder
that you still love me
The words I am proud of you were rare,
sealed away for exceptional occasions.
I worked with everything in me
just for a taste of this modest pledge
until I realised,
your love language was contrary —
Rainbow platters of fruit brought into my room
sliced into petite identical shapes
everyday with a precise dedication. .
Your consistency never failed,
made sure I knew I was loved
The clotted calluses on your parched hands,
the sore of your legs, back, arms, feet, neck
the dust on your lifeless uniform
its monotony evaporating your brilliant glow.
Though, never a complaint
The sacrifice of your laborious body
for the fruits of your children;
good girls birthed into an affinity with studies
wishful hope and yearning
that at least we
will breathe an easy life
in a promising Australia.
