In The Ministers Seat

It was a seat for ministers,

communing, we hope, with God

before the next sermon.

I saved it from the renovation skip

by donating to a good cause before he was even born.

Now, he climbs onto the “throne”, twists around,

bum beneath one leather-clad armrest,

head wrapped in his arm beneath the other,

one leg dangling.

I ask if he is okay. A tired voice replies,

“I just need a minute by myself.”

Take that minute, little man.

Sort out what you know so far.

Make sense of as much of it as makes sense. But, mostly, be by yourself.

Be comfortable by yourself.

Be at home with yourself.

Because yourself is all there is.

Yourself is more than most grown-ups dare to imagine.

But, perhaps, at four old,

with superhero plasters on your knees,

you have space to allow for it all

– with a little organising as you go.

In the ministers’ seat.