Paper Boats and Muted Screams

Dear Mumma, I call for a storm to arrive right away.
For thunder to roar repeatedly and for heavy showers all day.
Dark clouds swirling through the restless sky,
A list of questions, with plenty of “whys.”

No interruptions, questions, or distractions.
I want you around, but not your phone.
Just you beside me and the world held at bay,
Creating memories together, not staying at home alone.

I long for fluffy omelets; you forget I’m a child after all.
I can't fight him by myself; he's scary, muscular, and tall.
Take me for trips where I can touch the snow.
Can it be just the two of us, please? The only family I know.

Mumma, were you lonely when you were a child?
Was your home as big as the one in which we stay?
Did you pretend to play with your parents, too?
Or were they always away?

The rains are here, the skies are gray,
I’ve lost count of the paper boats I’ve made today.
I sit alone beneath the shed,
Watching raindrops splash on the garden bed.

I’m bored with ripples; they drift, then go,
I’ve run out of paper to fold and throw.
Yesterday, Uncle K and I played hide-and-seek,
I hid in the cupboard and tried not to squeak.

Does Uncle K do the same with you?
He enters my room when the night is still.
He presses his hand where he shouldn’t pursue,
My teacher said it’s something that might make me ill.