How Much Do You Love Me?

after caroline bird

by sam szanto

My ten-year-old was up way past her bedtime. She was dancing with

Daddy Sloth, Monopoly money tucked into his pants. Seeing me in

the doorway, she slutdropped. Perhaps she had seen me do it. ‘How

much do you love me?’ she said. I proudly pulled out the milk-teeth

necklace. ‘Not enough, Mother.’ I showed her my poetry collection,

which she pushed away like a dinner plate. She said it was against

her human rights to write about her unless she acquiesced. I rolled

her words on my tongue. ‘My stories are my own,’ she chanted as a

mantra. I asked if she would like me to change ‘daughter’ to ‘son’.

She said that would be a start. ‘How much do you love me, Mother?’

‘To infinity and beyond, darling.’ ‘A nonsensical concept.’ I told her

if she went to bed, I would give a fiver to Papa Sloth. ‘Fine,’ she said,

‘but make it a tenner, what can he buy with a fiver?’