The Gate

Traditional food and drinks are on the table.
Your Spider-Man pyjamas are on the sofa.
Soon you will be the king of this humble house.
Every corner should be ready for your wishes.
The big TV is switched off, leaving room for your games.
Everyone is waiting for you.

It is your mum who is coming to pick you up today.
She keeps looking at the big clock in the kitchen, once more.

Outside the school,
you avoid her eyes—
the eyes that were searching for your face,
the eyes that have been missing you.

Suddenly,
you stop talking to your friends.
Your smile disappears.

“I told my friends
that Dad would give them a lift home.”

“Why isn’t Dad coming today?
What happened to his car?”

“He is busy,” she replies.

But it is too late.
You have already run away
before she has finished her sentence.

Pretending that her hands are sweating
when she holds yours,
she timidly joins the other mothers
who, like her, can hardly speak English.

Their children run away too,
never knowing
how much their mothers have sweated
to bring them
into this ungrateful world.