Peter Phillips
Second Coming
It happened in the night Mother.
Sky, black as the dread
you saw in your sisters' eyes,
dropped black dots
sprinkled you with childhood;
the same second coming they suffered.
I know you find it difficult to explain.
It's like wanting to tell me something
and then it's gone, or half there
and when you say it, it comes out
as something else, but not all the time.
When the hairdresser asks,
"What are you doing this weekend"
how will you answer?
Do not think too long
or your tongue, tired and tangled,
will sieve the words.
Just answer "Nothing special,"
or smile at the hairdresser Mother.
You can get away with a smile.
This poem is from a sequence entitled Looking For You
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