Monday


I am sitting with my back against the door.

Your father left three hours ago,

left you asleep across our bed,

left me a sleepless wreck.

I need to get out of this house.

I have tried to get you dressed,

I have let you choose your clothes,

I have sung about our hats and coats,

I have wrapped a scarf round Bear-Bear’s neck,

I have promised you ice-cream,

I have held you down and grabbed your arm and twisted it into a sleeve.

I have told you not to scream.

Forgive me

for leaving you alone on the landing.

I am frightened of the pounding in my chest,

the blankness in my head,

the itching of my fists.

I am frightened that you love me still, like this.

Kathryn O’Borne