You answer the door in your red dress
and a flurry of Prosecco cut glass windows
as I step into the real world once more
and am told that I look great.
Even if this is an exaggeration,
I tell myself I look well enough
that nobody would guess
how hard and long I peered into the mirror
before finding my inner Cinderella
and heading to a party in London.
Admittedly more of an afternoon
of sitting on a sofa while reminding
my little boy that your Miss Marple
is a cat that has other murders to solve.
Your so grown up girl helping him
build a fairy wonderland
that’s been rescued from her grandmother’s loft,
while your sister learns the rules
to being knocked over by kiss me better cushions.
We all admire your gift
for finding suitcases and stuffed ducklings
that somehow effortlessly say,
this is my home
and you are so very welcome
to celebrate the last of the summer
in a garden full of raindrops and friends.