THE RAINBOW IN MY HAND
I’m seriously focused on trapping the fleeting violet magic
while she asks me a question I resolutely answer.
The dualistic lemon green I manage to catch,
the essence of which
alternates inevitably between two bands,
while —two, three—
she keeps ticking her chart.
I discover the dazzling beauty of light orange,
which I speedy intend to hunt,
as my daughter moves
from question number four to number five.
Her little child fingers intertwine with mine,
they rest tinted on my hand.
I stick to the colourful imaginary track,
convinced that my intricate life
will thus reflect this simple iridescent bow of light.
Eight, nine and ten questions till I,
enquire the topic of her weekly homework
to be done.
All the colours caress my skin at last,
her hand’s on my hand,
her fingers are on mine.
I’m left speechless by her reply,
for she unexpectedly declares
she must interview someone
she’s admired for a long time.