i have to babysit myself sometimes

 i don’t know why she’s crying.

the girl sitting on the floor screaming

because it’s too loud

too much

or she’s hungry 

or something.


what does she want?

she’s the one who wanted to turn up

on a saturday night

at a family gathering

(a birthday? or christmas)

and demanded we go home.


she can’t even tell me why.

she doesn’t like the noise

(calm music and them talking)

she doesn’t like the lights

(one lightbulb keeps flickering)

or the people

or the conversation

(my kid cousins, always screaming)


so

she puts in her earbuds and 

sulks.

i have things to do i have texts to reply i hate it here i’m being dramatic go home go home i’m annoying they hate me they hate me i hate it


finally

 i stand

and go to grab some

of my aunt’s seasoned salmon

and those rustic potatoes 

that still taste

classy somehow?

and a glass of apple juice.

without ice.

she’s so picky, for being almost grown.


i sit and offer them to her, 

and just for a moment,

like a small, chaotic spirit,

she is appeased.


it’s easier than usual.

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