It is ten forty two, on a Monday morning and I am hiding in a hedge. Little voices draw closer, Muffled giggles. ‘Where could she be? Where’s that horrible duck?’
That’s my cue, I leap out from my hedge and give chase with a quack across the concrete path dodging a rogue football and the invisible laser shot from pointed fingers.
The bell rings The game’s over. I stand up straight, fix my face back from duck to responsible adult.
These are the pockets of magic Sprinkled through my day where we step out of ourselves And the panic of everything. Where trying on different lives is as easy as placing a plastic crown on your head or picking up a stone and declaring that in fact, it’s a diamond.
When my day starts with the muscle memory of my thumb opening the news app to check what those numbers say these are the moments that I cling to the most.
The unbridled joy of the hiding friends found. The determination of small hands to carry huge sticks through puddles. Laughing until your sides ache the first time you hear a decades old joke.
It is two forty eight, On a January Sunday. Zoom meetings for the next week are already scheduled. PowerPoints loaded, 2D teaching is ready.
I watch the last of my files upload onto Teams and allow myself a moment of sad.
I think of the weeks hopefully not too far in the future, when I can get back into my hedge and be the horrible duck once again.
Audio recording of ‘Plastic Crown’, read by Emily Tucker
Emily Tucker | @happyemily93 | @ectwrites Emily is a teacher and writer living in North London. She writes poems and recently finished a novel for children. She really misses seeing her friends and going to work.
The DD shop is now closed for the summer. We willl be reopening in September. Dismiss
by Emily Tucker
It is ten forty two,
on a Monday morning
and I am hiding in a hedge.
Little voices draw closer,
Muffled giggles.
‘Where could she be?
Where’s that horrible duck?’
That’s my cue,
I leap out from my hedge
and give chase with a quack
across the concrete path
dodging a rogue football
and the invisible laser
shot from pointed fingers.
The bell rings
The game’s over.
I stand up straight,
fix my face back from duck
to responsible adult.
These are the pockets of magic
Sprinkled through my day
where we step out of ourselves
And the panic of everything.
Where trying on different lives
is as easy as placing
a plastic crown
on your head
or picking up a stone
and declaring
that in fact,
it’s a diamond.
When my day starts with the muscle memory
of my thumb
opening the news app
to check
what those numbers say
these are the moments
that I cling to the most.
The unbridled joy of
the hiding friends found.
The determination of small hands
to carry huge sticks
through puddles.
Laughing until your sides ache
the first time you hear
a decades old joke.
It is two forty eight,
On a January Sunday.
Zoom meetings for the next week
are already scheduled.
PowerPoints loaded,
2D teaching is ready.
I watch the last of my files
upload onto Teams
and allow myself
a moment of sad.
I think of the weeks
hopefully not too far
in the future,
when I can get back into my hedge
and be the horrible duck
once again.
Emily Tucker | @happyemily93 | @ectwrites
Emily is a teacher and writer living in North London. She writes poems and recently finished a novel for children. She really misses seeing her friends and going to work.