A KIND OF BEAUTY

My daughter has discovered Post-it notes.
Occasionally she sticks one to my head,
Then leaves. The glue holds firm until it floats,
A feather of her twittering mind, unread,
And lands upon the rug or polished board
To join the jetsam of our messy days,
And, trodden on, is peevishly ignored
Till, broom in hand, I wonder what it says 
Before it’s swept, like childhood, from my sight.
Her hand, at six, is like a wild horse:
It bucks against the line’s restraint and quite 
Beguilingly leaps up and bolts off course.
“Dear Mum, we need some more tomato sauce.
I love you.” I pick up a pen, and write …

Rita Glennon

Written for the ACU Prize for Poetry, and shortlisted for the same, in 2023.