The Small Deceits of Daughterhood are A Practised Art

by Fiona Dignan

Photo by Nina Hill on Unsplash

You won’t remember how I fluff your pillow, set your pearls straight, place your rosary in your arthritic hands, their praying done. You won’t remember how you mistake me for your sister, ask me,

“Nellie, what have you done to your hair, what will mother say?”

You won’t remember how you cradle my child and think she is me. You won’t remember how you sing When Irish eyes are smiling to her, softly as moth’s wings, as you stroke the dark slick of her hair. You won’t remember how you tell me my long dead father will be home soon,

“Nellie, I must dash, Paul will be wanting his tea on.”

You won’t remember how I tell you,

“No bother Nora, Paul will be through the door soon.”

You won’t remember your smile; how my small deceit creases your face with peace, as you ease back, awaiting my father’s homecoming.

Fiona Dignan started writing during lockdown to cope with the chaos of home-schooling four children. Last year, she won The London Society Poetry Prize and The Plaza Prize for Sudden Fiction. She was a finalist in the LISP poetry competition and is Puschcart Prize Nominated.

This story was shortlisted in the March 24 Monthly Micro Competition.