One Little Girl

Estelle does not like coffee. Estelle does not like loud people in the morning. Estelle does not like cats that sit on your fresh clothes in the morning and leave big fuzzballs everywhere. Estelle is not happy in the morning.

Her mother smiles, her father grins, Sydney the dog is ready to romp. But Estelle is a slow, sad person in the morning. Her hair is all rumpled and bent. Her eyes are still twisted in three different directions from that strange dream about shopping. Estelle does not like mirrors.

Estelle does not like boys. They are too bumpy and bossy. They always have to have their way. All the boys except Sammy. He's not so bad because he lets Estelle read his books about outer space and 1000 Stupid Jokes. Like where do dogs go when they die. Or how many oranges can a basketball player eat. Or when does a tree dance. Sammy has a thousand of them.

Estelle likes feathers. She likes them on birds and she likes them off birds. But she would not like to kill a bird just to get its feathers. Estelle is patient. She will wait for them to fall like leaves. Sometimes she wanders out to collect them - mostly brown and grey feathers, but sometimes a perfect white feather shows up. Once she found a bright orange feather and wondered what kind of bird would have this. Then her mother told her that this was just a chicken feather dyed orange for someone's Indian costume. She kept it - but down at the bottom of her feather box.

What about the tiny bugs, the little lice that live on bird feathers? Do they make her itch? No, they do not.


All poems by Br. Tom Murphy, O. Carm.

My Poems

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