an object from childhood

When I was four

A guest came to stay

He never left

He brought with him

A soft coloured yellow breast pump

That sat in the corner

Of the living room.

And I was in charge of it.

My mum did held our guest

(and did all of the

Milk production)

But I was in charge of

  • Putting the machine away
  • Fetching new bottles
  • Maintaining the system.

I would sit on the floor, crossed legs like

We were taught to sit for mass.

Like I was watching the most important thing

In the world.

My mum would gaze lovingly

Down at our guest

And I would stare in awe at the machine.

I liked its whirring noise

Its gentle colour

The way it made me feel important.

I love my brother

But the machine was way cooler

To me at four years old.


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