by Andrew McCallum

He stands, filling the doorway
with his silhouette,
dungarees tucked in his boots.

His family are gathered
to welcome his homecoming
with smiles and laughter;
and the sun-darkened kitchen
is filled with music,
out of the blue, like birdsong.

It is all too much for me.
I let go the hand
and stutter across the floor,
crying Milky moo! Milky
moo man! taking my
first words and steps together.

My mother’s loosed hand rises
to cover her mouth.
Her mother busies herself,
finding something urgent to do
in the kitchen sink.

The milky moo man
crouches down on his hunkers
to gather up my falling,
almost upsetting his milk pail
with the broadness of his smile.

© Andrew McCallum

Andrew McCallum is a member of Biggar Writers.

You can also read an earlier contribution of Andrew in our October 2005 Showcase.