paint

crouched on old carpet
damp washcloth in paint-covered hands
furiously scrubbing the door

my sister, laughing
with a cloth of her own
wiping the edges of the walls
with an air of 
half-amusement, half-panic
the blue does not budge

my brother, the worrier 
imploring us to try harder
faster
stressed-out in the midst of disaster
we are trying to make things clean

i have been
so busy
mortgages, lessons
barely getting a breath in
planning, to-do list demanding
i have been carrying so much
i have been so grown-up
but here

i am knelt on the floor
with paint on my knuckles
after my sister playfully drew on the door
she did not know it would stain
and now, to prevent the strain
on my mother's brain
when she comes home and sees paint
we are hopelessly rubbing towels
against the wood
and praying she does not come home yet
it is rare for me to see 
my sister, not upset
rare to see her laughing
unusual to see her joining in
no insults muttered in passing
she is on her knees too, 
and although the world is so big

all that matters, here
is getting this paint off the door
i am sure
there will be more
i will worry about
more reasons i shout
more things to make me cry
but here
this door is the centre 
of all the world's problems

for once, it is nice
to have something small
to get lost in

it is nice
to be a child
crouching on a carpet
and desperately scrubbing away
at a door
before mum comes home

and when mum comes home
we all silently agree
not to say a word

i like being small
i like feeling heard.

22:10pm - 11/06/26 - my window