Alone in a room of two hundred, Christmas Carols play,
Saints taunt me on the wall, I sit, simulating motherhood.
Nervousness sets in, I notice the eyes of the neighbours
I told to fuck off six months ago, they would not accept
I was depressed.
Children sing, overwhelmingly loud, out of tune, I focus
on my daughter, her natural confidence reminds me of
everything I am not – I pretend a little longer, fight the
urge to crawl under pews and hide from the world because
I love her.
I admire my matching socks and think today is a good day,
I managed to brush my hair. I don’t envy the cooing couples,
the perfectly sculptured families, once I did, now I know:
it’s just life, mine is different, lonely, but it’s mine and
– L.J. Lenehan –