Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

   Ginny is sitting at the bottom of the garden in the late summer sunshine.  Today she is seven.  Arranged alongside her on the grass are her birthday presents, except for the sweets, which she has eaten, and the money from her Auntie Pat which she gave to her Mum for safe keeping.
  
   The presents are lined up neatly, paints, crayons, a sketch pad, a bedside lamp in the shape of a rabbit, a pink cotton dress lovingly made by her Mum and a book of poems and nursery rhymes, full of coloured pictures.

   Ginny has never seen such beautiful princesses, exquisite fairies or such terrifying witches and dragons.  Her favourite picture is the Lion and the Unicorn; elegant, heraldic beasts.  The Lion is golden and bold, but the Unicorn!  O that lovely Unicorn!  Ginny has fallen in love with the Unicorn.  When she picks up the book it falls open at the same page every time, because she has carried it round like that nearly all day.  Now, sitting on the lawn with her birthday nearly finished, she looks at it again.  She traces the line of the Unicorn with her fingers, his arched neck, his delicate legs .... but her mind is only partly on him because she has been waiting all day for the best birthday present of all.
 
   Her father has promised her a pet.  He wouldn’t say what, because it’s to be a surprise.  Ginny has never had a pet of her own, so it’s a very important event and she has been thinking about it all day.

   A puppy?  A puppy would be lovely, a fluffy, cuddly puppy which would grow up to be her faithful companion and follow her everywhere.  But she has her doubts about this because her brother
has a dog and Mum always says one dog is enough.
 
   A kitten?  She would love a kitten, not one of the wild farm kittens, but a tame friendly one of her own.

    A guinea-pig, a rabbit, a hamster?  She would be happy with any of these.

    A canary, a budgie, a white mouse with pink eyes?  She hugs herself with pleasure at the thought.  She knows her Dad will bring her the perfect pet because no one in the world understands her like he does, and because she and her Dad have this special relationship he always knows just what she wants.  Sometimes he seems to know it before she does.  Ginny has lots of secrets with her Dad, but no secrets from him.

    She hears him call her - Ginny,  where are you?

    - I’m here, Dad, she cries, turning to greet him, but the smile dies on her lips and she is unable to speak.

    O no!  Not a goat!

    She has never liked goats, in fact she is even a little bit frightened of them.  But worse than this, her father is holding this baby goat as though he is bringing her a rare treasure.  His face is alight with anticipation;  she must not disappoint him.

    The shock of the baby goat she could bear, but this is something much worse, for she has never lied to her Dad, she has never had to pretend something she didn’t feel.  Now she feels cold and hollow.  She can’t believe he could get it so wrong.  She feels he is a stranger, as though she’s lost her Dad just as surely as if he had died.

    She sits very still and tries to pretend it’s not happening.  Her Dad puts the baby goat down beside her, but the kid is only a few hours old and he takes a couple of wobbly steps and collapses in her lap.  Reluctantly, she strokes him.  Poor little goat, it’s not his fault.

    He is pure white and his fur is flat and silky with a glossy sheen. 
He opens his small pink mouth and says, ‘Maaaaa ....’

    With an unconscious skill that comes from understanding animals Ginny lifts him into a more comfortable position on her lap, folding his awkward legs gently under him.

    She knows her father is looking at her, but she will not look up at him.  Tentatively she strokes the little creature, running her fingers up his narrow muzzle and round his soft white ears.  On top of his head there is a tiny hard patch where one day a horn will grow.  She feels for the other one, her fingers exploring his silky fur.  But try as she may she can only find one horn bud.  She sits very still while the hollow feeling goes away and she is filled by the warm glow of a secret shared.

    She looks up at her father and smiles and his smile matches hers and they exchange a long silent look of perfect conspiracy.