Read The Weight of Water for Free Online Page B

sees Mama’s grace,
    And sometimes he creates it.
     
    ‘And the child isn’t as pretty as you,’
               Kanoro says.
     
    He knows this will make me cry,
    Which I do.

I Didn’t Mean to Go Back
     
    To see Tata,
               And Melanie,
               And the baby
               Briony,
    Who is my sister,
    Although they haven’t said so,
    And I don’t ask.
     
    It just happened,
               Quite naturally,
               And I never
               Mention it
     
    To Mama.
     
    Something draws me.
     
    It isn’t the hot chocolate;
    I never can finish a cup.
    It isn’t the monstrous television;
    It only ever plays cartoons.
     
    It is, maybe, the calm family feel
    Of the kitchen,
    Where Melanie
    Throws food into the microwave,
    Clothes into the washing machine,
    Going about her chores with pleasure – ease –
    And not complaining, or too tired to play
    With the baby
    Or talk to me
    When Tata’s not around.

Melanie
     
    I don’t want her to be nice.
    It isn’t her job.
     
    And it makes me feel wicked
    When she offers me a piece of cheesecake,
    More than I could possibly eat,
    With as much cream as I like.
     
    It would be easier if
    She hated me,
    Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty.
     
    She could turn me away
    When I stand at        
                     The doorstep
    Hungry and tired –
    The out-of-date daughter.
     
    She doesn’t do that.
    She wouldn’t.
    Because she’s nice.
     
    She makes milkshakes.
    Any flavour I like.
    She asks about me :
    About school,
    Swimming,
    Poland –
                     Never about Mama,
    Of course.
     
    I don’t always respond.
    I sulk a lot.
    To show her what she is
    And what she’s done.
    But she doesn’t seem to notice.
    She doesn’t expect me to like her.
    No moods when
    I ignore the child.
     
    And when Tata’s around
    She leaves us alone.
    She knows she isn’t welcome,
    Isn’t a part of this history
                               Or of us.
     
    I want to hate Melanie,
    But I can see why Tata wants her.
    And sometimes, when Melanie
    Leaves the room
    I wish she’d stayed,
    Because she’s easier to be with
    Than Tata;
     
    She looks me straight in the eye
    Which is more than he can ever do.

The Gospel According to Tata
     
    Tata didn’t teach me to lie,
                      Now he’s condoning it,
    Every time I land at his door
                      And he doesn’t mention Mama.
    Every time he offers me money
                      To pay for my silence.
    Tata took me to church        
                      Though I protested some Sundays
    Because virtue matters,        
                      He’d said.
    Tata taught me prayers
                      That took hours to recite –
    The Holy Rosary and
                      How to hold the beads,
    To count the prayers,
                      Do daily worship.
    Tata wrote the rules
                      We had to follow –
    Rules he never read        
                      Himself .
    Tata’s ashamed
                      Whenever he has to see me
    And be reminded of the sin
                      He never planned to commit.

Lady Godiva
     
    The long-haired Lady Godiva rode naked
    As a new lamb
    Through the Saxon streets of Coventry.
     
    Her husband should have loved her more.
    He should have loved her enough to
    Concede,
    To keep her safe from Peeping Tom.
     
    Now, in Broadgate,
    There is a statue, a misplaced tribute
    Outside a coffee shop.
     
    And no one stops to look up
    At the brave, bronze Lady Godiva,
    Who cared more for others
    Than for her own modesty,
    Apart from the odd teenage boy
    Who doesn’t really look at Godiva
    But at something else,
    And misses the point completely.

Ready
     
    Mama listens to Madame Butterfly and
    Sings along to ‘Un Bel Di Vedremo’ .
    When she hits a high note,
    One only she can reach,
    She raises her hands
    Like a soprano