Broken link
They were all there,
the reminders that everything had gone.
Little Ponies, playdough lambkin, Brownie badges
in a bag, toffee tin of milk white teeth too precious
to be left out for the fairy, junior rounders team
runners-up trophy, signed poster of a Gladiator,
Forever Friends eraser, Sindy on the shelf.
Two fat armfuls
of Mummy-kiss-and-make-it-better that made it
through the keep-out years of I’ll-do-my-own-room,
a thousand nights of secret dust behind closed doors,
private phone calls, pierced ears and twice pierced navel,
discarded knickers on the pure new wool carpet, now
being dropped on the laminated floor of further learning.
Gone the time to fill
between goodbye hugs and the three o’clock bell.
No more cotton socks to bless and pair together,
no wiping clean the cracked recorder’s bitten mouthpiece,
all those dumb questions left unanswered, rebounding from
an earful of Take That on continuous play, straining for
the no-way-are-you-picking-me-up screech of a 2am taxi.
No need to tell me
she was ready to go. No need at all for me to stay.
I’ll unpack later, Mum. It’s a long way back.
Home again, I’m plugging in the hoover. Stoop to
pick up one more thing. The gold locket, never shown,
or loosed from round her neck. Release the catch.
Her smiling face. Next to it, me looking back.