Nora

She gave me nonsense.

Words I couldn't read about people I didn't know. Sounds that didn't fit the phonetics I was learning in school.

Towns I'd never heard of. Countries on no maps I'd seen. Places that didn't exist within the parameters of the local bus route.

Animals that were far stranger than what Old MacDonald had - I knew those A bewildering assortment of creatures.

She gave me stories that didn't make sense. Plots more bendy than cooked spaghetti and phrases that sounded so silly I'd giggle.

Nouns and adjectives that made her face look funny as her lips wrestled with the assonance and alliteration. An assault course of consonants.

Lyrical patterns lifted by a voice, that began to intrigue more than perplex.

She gave me stories of grand adventures. Of journeys far and wide - and of cosy home. Legends of gods and goddesses. Fables of brave girls and clever boys and naïve rabbits. Myths of men and monsters. Novels of nobles and nightmares. Poems of peace and personality, limericks of laughter and lunacy, rhymes beyond all reason and rules. The power of pen and page.

Grimm, Kipling, Potter, Rosen, Rowling, Zephaniah, Seuss, Dahl, Lear, Hungry caterpillars, tigers who came to tea, owls, pussycats, aliens, monsters, mermaids, kings, queens, warriors, Zedds, Whos, wizards, witches, unicorns.

Friends.

She gave me magic.

She gave me books.

©Angela Holmes

Thank you, Nana.