Transformation

I find a long piece of orange ribbon

Mum used to wrap the present she bought me

for my last birthday,

and cut the length of it

    in two.

Then I thread the pieces through my hair

and into long plaits

which lie against my face.

I take a towel from the radiator

in the bathroom

and wrap the back of my head in it,

try turning myself into the girl from the photo,

Florica – his wife in two weeks –

but I’m too pale to pass for her.

I’m studying my creation in my phone

when Mum comes into the room

looking for her hairdryer.

She blinks.

‘Oh, you look nice,’ she says.

I yank the towel off my head,

chuck it on the floor.

‘I look ridiculous.’

‘No. You look different.

Colourful.

You look pretty, Jess.’

She has sad eyes:

even when she’s trying to be cheerful

she’s a picture of misery.

I untie the plaits,

pull out the ribbons.

‘Shut up, Mum.

I look like a dog

and we both know it.’