fairy godmother aka squirt flies solo

you're in your room 

packing a huge bag for the bus trip,  

observed by favourite girlfriends and brothers, 

poncying around in your sundress and heels, 

talking pig latin, singing crazy lyrics,

flicking things at each other down the hallway,

guffawing great belly laughs.

you're trying to squeeze your sewing machine

 in with your teddy bear and all the necessities

of the first few months of independence 

and i am remembering the day you were born: 

flying down the motorway at a hundred, 

a perfect birth, a rosebud girl,

lipstick still on my lips.

daddy's voice, "belle, you will marry me!" 

as you flew shrieking around the lounge

in the days of a thousand dress-ups

and now, you're flying solo.

ain't gonna lie, i'm gonna miss you every day.

your intuitiveness, your culinary rescues, your song.

outrageous fortune and sherlock marathons,

minions and facebook funnies and 

mum, read this book: i think you'll really like it.

you've taught me so much about the world:

finding strength in the hard moments,

 icing on cupcakes, long-distance love.

i snapped this photo earlier in the secret garden:

the white irises thought you look stunning

inside and out, which you do.

my fairy godmother, always remember:

there is music in you...