My Existence — Tripped Up On Itself

Existence in purity

Photo by Barbare Kacharava on Unsplash

Agony never hurt as much when I was a forgotten child

Dropped off at school I hated waiting for your hand on mine

I had my mittens it was a freezing winter in England that year 1969

My mother held on tightly and I cried through the bitter wind and chilled air

You seemed composed but I knew you were breaking

For me for Dad for all of us 6

You said you loved your babies

I responded ‘yes but what happened when we all grew up’?

You looked away and out the foggy windows

As usual there was no heating on because Dad was home

Sometimes before he got back mum would turn them on

Just to warm our hands

When Dad slammed the dinner table

He meant business

Most times we weren’t sure what it was to do with

But it was a good idea to run and hide

My first funeral

There was the pain I didn’t feel when people died

I wondered what was wrong with others — -why all the crying?