Through the wall I hear you move,
feet padding across
avoiding the toys left out of boxes.
You appear at my door
nightmare hair matted on your forehead.
My arms will hold you now as then,
when your soft fontanel throbbed
in those endless sterile
nights of pacing
and the creak of the old rocking chair.
During daylight hours you look at me like I was made of stone,
As if I was permanent
like this island.
Maybe you’ll remember these moments,
I can’t say you will,
but I hope.
All I know is we live and so
breezy Autumn piers
rainy football matches Saturday & photographs
taped in scrapbooks
with dusty corners.
These I leave to you.