Pictures
Look what’s at the Lyric,
on again after all these years.
One and a half for the circle,
for under fives are free.
Lights dim. My daughter’s
full of wonder. Her brother’s
munching peanuts; at six he’s
seen it all before.
I must’ve been about her age
the first time round,
flanked by brothers, so grown-up
without Mummy.
In the midst of the enchantment
I remember how
Bambi called and called
for mother
not knowing she would
never come again.
I long for a remote control
within my reach
to flick away the dreaded scene.
It isn’t far away.
Search for fingers so she’ll know.
Tiny hand lies limp.
Leave her sleeping through
the heartache
and when she wakes
it’s spring.