by Karen MorrowNan’s house is old, colourful and tall,
her treasures fill all of its spaces.
Jewelled rugs float on seas of sunny wooden floors
and her garden has the best hiding places.
We sometimes dress up, in her hats and her shawls
and pretend we are ladies in castles.
Today, in a box, in a cupboard, in a hall,
we found a pair of old purple sunglasses.
‘What are these?’ I asked Nan
and she threw up her hands,
‘Ah! You found my happiness glasses!’
‘These’ she explained ‘make everything change
when I’m sad, or angry, or hurt.
I wear these shades on my grey coloured days
but I always say these words first:
Nothing’s so broken that cannot be fixed,
or heart too cracked to be mended.
Nothing’s too black or too boring or blue
that purple cannot make splendid.’
As I slipped on the shades I was truly amazed
to see everything had indeed turned to purple;
the room and my Nan and my very own hands!
Yep, everything was deliciously purple.
I ran to find Pop and my little brother Josh
who were watering plants in the garden.
I squealed when I saw them ‘Purple people! Purple water!’
Josh smiled. Pop turned and said... ‘Pardon?’
‘I’m wearing Nan’s glasses, her happiness glasses!’
Pop laughed and said ‘can we join the game?’
‘You said that in purple!’
My little brother said ‘burp!’ Which is nearly almost exactly the same.
I lied on the grass and looked up at the clouds
floating in a jellybean sky.
Soft lacy shades of pink lemonade with ice cream scoops piled high.
Nan found me there, so I asked her to share,
there was way too much food there for me.
Then Pop wanted some, so Josh had to come,
Nan said ‘save some room for tea.’
It’s time to go home. There’s a lump in my throat.
Tears prickle behind my eyes.
Nan whispers ‘there’s a way to make everything change’
and then to my surprise,
She gave me her glasses, her happiness glasses
and it made me smile to see,
my Nan and my Pop and my little brother Josh,
shades of purple, smiling right back at me.
Karen Morrow is a writer of literary short fiction and non-fiction, escaping from adulthood for a year to play and experiment with children's fiction. She will probably never go back. For more information, visit Karen's blog.
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