Wednesday, 13 December 2017



When my nose peeped out
upon an iced window morning,
dark upon the lake of night,
when nothing would bid me;
he was downstairs 
kindling the cinders,
lighting the fire of the day. 

I lay floating on the nice it is ness.

My “please?” brought toast,
the thick butterness of toast,
and crumbs!
For he has left for work,
and only the door said goodbye.
The hobnail boots crunched away
into the darkness of a somewhere,
until sundown sold him back to me.

His heart wrapped my world as I
settled back to sleep up the sun
of little boy’s nursery rhymes,
of my water-coloured tiny steps
and wide appealing eyes,
tight curls of longing,
for my daddy,
longing for my daddy to return.

To be swept up in his arms,
enchanted by the smell of work.
A hug and a kiss,
how I will remember this.

When our aches swop places.

Walking the plank of childhood 
I knew, even then, that someday,
not that far away,
his day would turn to night,
and my night would turn to day,
and I would butter the toast.

No comments:

Post a comment