Relative Distance
We get to the very top
and Dad helps me climb onto the pillar
that marks the summit.
The trig point.
He holds onto to me as I shout to the valley below
and wave at the reservoir.
King of the castle.
I laugh at the ants in the car park, just starting out,
putting on boots, checking their maps,
bustling round picnics.
Dad tears a roll in half,
and I hold it open as he slices in apple and cheese with his knife.
This is not a Mum picnic!
He says it’s been a long time since he had an apple with crunch,
and he leans against the stone with the sun on his face.
What's it for, I ask, making him jump - The Trig Point?
He doesn’t mind that I talk with my mouth full.
For measuring the peaks, he says.
Look around,
there will be three of them.
Three peaks.
Three highest points.
Tri.
Three.
It’s not hard I say. I know them already.
Here.
Now.
And you being home.
and Dad helps me climb onto the pillar
that marks the summit.
The trig point.
He holds onto to me as I shout to the valley below
and wave at the reservoir.
King of the castle.
I laugh at the ants in the car park, just starting out,
putting on boots, checking their maps,
bustling round picnics.
Dad tears a roll in half,
and I hold it open as he slices in apple and cheese with his knife.
This is not a Mum picnic!
He says it’s been a long time since he had an apple with crunch,
and he leans against the stone with the sun on his face.
What's it for, I ask, making him jump - The Trig Point?
He doesn’t mind that I talk with my mouth full.
For measuring the peaks, he says.
Look around,
there will be three of them.
Three peaks.
Three highest points.
Tri.
Three.
It’s not hard I say. I know them already.
Here.
Now.
And you being home.
This poem is copyright (©) Rachel Burrows 2025

About the Writer
Rachel Burrows
Rachel is a mum and a teacher, but also a noticer of things. She loves standing still and absorbing - taking in the sounds, smells and secrets of our world. She has travelled far and is frequently found in pea-patches.