Divorce, 1945
1
As I open the door the first thing
is the sun on the side of the desk,
last polished the day you got back
from the south of England -
mother had insisted, using a rag
and cream from a tin. Then
your face, and from your shoulder
the metal glint of a wing.
Behind the door in my peep-toe shoes
I try to hear you breathe. Sometimes
I believe you are the quietest man
I’ve ever known.
2
Put me in a picture, I said.
Just me somewhere on my own
where I can’t disappear.
On a beach, my hair blowing hard
against a clear sky. And take me staring
straight at the camera.
A smile doesn’t matter.
Just get me all in.
Page(s) 27
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