How it happens – by Sarah Temporal
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY
We paint yellow sample colours on the wall
and bam: there’s four patches of potential sun
and no dull white left in the garage to fix it,
and we haven’t said for sure we want to paint
this room—that’s how it happens. The house
stays the same for years, but takes a second to truly
belong to you. Is there any more chaotic combination
than a child, a cat, and an open paint can?
Our daughter rides the waves of our anxiety
and relief, plants her face in the pillow of my belly.
My waist has grown wider in the last three months
than in three decades, like a prayer someone said
on my behalf. May you expand beyond the limits
of your small imaginings. May you age into the taking
of space. May your waist spread to hold your whole
family—a verandah—a place for gin-and-tonic evenings
with the geckos in late summer, watching kids ride bikes
in the street. This house will grow into the shape it wants
to be. See, I’ve become my own comfort toy,
huggable and round, something I can’t help squeezing
as the evening velvets down. Whatever I choose now,
the walls will end up sunshine—so much sun, there’ll be drips of it
left on the floor.▼
Image: Giulian0 Giustarini - Pexels
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