drizzling today – but at least it’s warm.
I sit, legs
dangling on the sandstone garden wall.
I am trying hard,
to make my final sweet
last, until tea time
yet I somehow
doubt it will.
a man in with Mama who I don’t recall
ever seeing before.
are sitting side by side eating strawberries
I really hope they
save some for me.
Their voices are low – but every now and
I can here Mama laugh.
She doesn’t laugh that
often – I guess
that’s how I notice it so, when she does.
I swallow my sweet, feeling annoyed with myself
for being so greedy.
I wish they would hurry up and finish whatever
it is, they’ve got to say.
Eventually I hear the sound of the
front door being rattled open.
Sometimes in the really wet weather
the door sticks –
Mama hit it with a pick axe once, made
no difference other than it broke the handle.
For months afterwards we used a spoon
to turn the lock until finally an old friend
came to fix it –
‘free of charge’ Mama said!
side by side out they came – he looked full of himself to me.
Mama acted all surprised on seeing me.
Can’t think why – she had told me to sit there.
started making funny head gestures towards the house.
down from the wall – but not before
the man had
strolled towards me.
I could smell those strawberries on his thick beer laden breath. He took some sweets from his pocket, holding them out to me.
nodded for me to accept – so I took them.
soon expertly rummaging
in amongst the bright coloured wrappers
looking for my favourite.
Some of Mamas words got a
little lost as I unwrapped the sweets.
However, I think I heard
‘Mary, say hello to your new Daddy’.
I smiled – at least this one brings me sweets…
The grass rubs cool
beneath my waiting feet.
I touch the vacant, once sanguine spaces
now lonely between my finger tips
I listen as you speak, softly “goodnight”
varied only by the rise – of her touch.
I can hear the voice of my own voice needing to know
what made this
Then you are gone
shadowy about my vision.
The sweeps of light undo me
a sharp pain, pins
me to the earth.
I want to take the warmth from your hands
cradling it about my body –
but chances come
to go – of that I now, do know.
Yet still I can recall, from my memory of memories
how foolishly I let ours go…
Not for her this slam of day
against those, violet rays that talk
of calmer reason.
For when she hears the trees, who dare
to catch the breeze, then laugh with ease,
she sets aside her mind to bleed.
For all about each season – behind
the windows curtained glass
she watch’s, bridled not for hope
of long, beyond forgotten –
then blown to scatter distant brown
with toss of hand
amid that bed of earth, still warm.
Then all about did listen
as the sun set down her light to drop.
Quietly setting over them; as the day dropped to her knees.