Pieces
They didn’t have to take it all away
from me, setting the table, washing up
the flowers, putting out your favourite cup
to dry - I don’t know why the peg gave way.
They give me jigsaws - I know it’s their way
of trying to trick me, get me muddled up.
The pieces don’t belong, it’s like that cup
of yours. They made me throw the bits away.
I wish they’d let me help to make the tea.
I know how much plain flour goes in the pot
and how to set the fridge on Gas Mark 3.
It couldn’t have been Thursday I forgot
your name. You don’t come any more. It’s me
who broke your cup. I cried. It meant a lot.
Page(s) 47
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