by Mari Pack
In the beginning,
I belonged to no one but myself.
And no one belonged to me.
Which is exactly how I thought it ought to be,
Though I think rather differently now.
You know, Darling,
you never asked me how I liked to spend my hours.
Before you devoted them to a worthier cause.
Well, it might surprise you to know,
that didn’t spend them cooking.
And I didn’t spend them tidying up.
For God’s sake, we live in a garden.
What is there to tidy up?
You’ll have to excuse my vanity.
I was young, you know.
But I spent them by the riverside
Not wasting my time mucking about
Like some of us
Instead, I studied my reflection
I quite like my reflection,
When I have the time to observe it.
Which isn’t often anymore.
There, I told you it was vain, but well there it is.
I won’t apologize for it.
And I liked to speak among the others
In fact, there was one in particular,
a charming little fellow
a scraggly thing with its ears all eschew
Once I asked him what he liked to be called.
He looked rather taken aback at first,
But then, his ears perked up and he said:
“Well I’ve always quite fancied the name Charlie.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said.
He asked me what my name was.
Well, I didn’t rightly know.
But just as I was about to consider it,
you came storming in.
And you, you didn’t give me a chance.
After that it was all “Dog” and “Eve,”
I didn’t understand.
I was, you see, so very young.
But I am older now.
And I understand what it is to belong to someone.
Which is why I’m taking the apple—
and I won’t apologize
for wanting one thing in all this yours,
that I can call mine.