HAND ME DOWNS
The bag would arrive squashed full of teenage clothes,
Denim shorts, slogan t-shirts and a myriad of stripey bows.
Polythene straining, everything squeezed in one plastic bag,
Handles stretched, pulled out of shape, starting to sag.
I would unfold each item slowly, inhaling my aunty’s laundry liquid smell,
My cousin’s clothes, always well worn, they’d lasted her well.
Heart beating excitedly as I examined each new treasure,
My mum would stand me upright; holding dresses to my back to measure.
“This should fit you now” and “You’ll have to grow into this” (I didn’t really hear).
Pulling out each garment one by one, into the bottomless bag I’d peer.
Now as my little one receives a familiar delivery of his cousin’s outgrown stuff,
I smile to see history repeat itself, we’re blessed to always have enough.
To wear warm clothes and have plenty ‘things’ to never do without,
But I want him to know he’s lucky and that there are children who are forgotten about.
He’s only young, but will soon understand that this world isn’t always fair,
Sometimes we need to look around to see that there’s injustice everywhere.
And so begins our journey and the way I’d like to provide is by teaching him to care,
Because that’s our essential lesson here, our ability to share.