REDHEAD

Oh I bet she has a temper - with that hair.

My mother smiles politely

as strangers reach out to stroke what does not belong to them

Too timid to respond with words

I twist around hiding behind her freckled knees.

Oi Gingernut!

Lungs searing with embarrassment racing across the playground

my milky skin and wobbly teeth pretend not to feel the sting.

Chalky hopscotch lines swim in and out of focus

as tears threaten to betray my jaunty flushed face -

at home hot breaths of pain fall into my father’s chest.

Does the carpet match the curtains babe?

Adolescent innocence protects me from understanding

the question along with intent

as teenage boys demand an answer in the dinner cue,

I ignore them

and order chips.

I bet you're fiery in bed, being a redhead.

Awkwardly shifting in high heels, leaning against a bar

head swirling with dark berried wine he insisted on ordering,

I make a joke and fire a distraction into the night sky.

Do you want a boy or a girl?

Oh I don’t mind - as long as they’re healthy - and not ginger!

She shrieks and cradles her ballooned belly,

they hush as I pass then giggle like caught out schoolgirls.

Oh but your hair is lovely darling - don’t listen to me!

I smile and tell them not to worry.

Because

for every cruel word yelled

at least three kind words were spoken.

For every flinty jibe - there were countless soft stares of awe.

I sit now with three heartbeats inside a body

and my own swollen belly

imagining messy breakfasts in bed

with sticky jam fingers causing mischief in crisp white sheets

And I hope, so much

they will be redheads.