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She was rarely to be seen
sitting comfortably.
Our small kitchen
with its formica table
and steamed-up window
could hardly contain her
as she crashed saucepans
and wrestled wet sheets.
But that afternoon
she fetched the old step-stool,
that beast of all work
stalled patiently in the corner –
inside its red frame
there was a secret ladder
tucked upside-down
that creaked a familiar greeting
when she unfolded it.
The kitchen was stifling
and her hands were raw
but she poured milk
in my favourite cup.
And I climbed
and sat facing her,
resting my bare feet
on the warm top step.
The voice in the radio
spoke to us both that day.
It said
Beyond the steamed-up window
there is a world.
It said A thing
can be more than it seems –
reach in and unfold it.