Dust
 
 

A china elephant
Small, delicate
Sat still on the mantle.
A gift from Father.
But why had she kept it?
Mary Lennox was not a child.
No.
She had no time for childish things
Or childish games.
She was to be “quiet
And polite
And well behaved.”
But mostly quiet.
 

It was strange
Mother had always called her ‘child’
And told her to act as an adult
Was it not?
Perhaps she forgets my name.
How silly she was
To pack a little elephant.
Only a small suitcase she had,
Yet she packs a toy?
What would Mother have said?
 

The elephant glinted
Gleamed
Shimmered, in the sunlight
The Indian jewels shining.
Mary kept it very clean.
It wasn’t that she cared about it.
No.
She just hated dust,
That’s all.
 
 
2013_Holly-Brendling
Holly Brendling
Year 13
Baradene College, Auckland