Helen Kitson
Leaving
Like Bluebeard’s wife (the one that got away)
I’ve given him back his keys, his secret rooms
And the echoey nursery where he allowed me to sit
But not to fill with noise, squeals, puffs of talc
Or warm sticky smells. The dolls’ house is dusty,
Its occupants lame and chipped. I tried to make them look
Less sad: I brushed their clothes with a toothbrush
And put the babies to bed. He heard the catch in my throat
And showed me musty school reports. I remember
School, my best friend who hugged me though there was
No love in it. Her lips were shiny with Vaseline
(Lipstick wasn’t allowed). I didn’t seen her again
Until she ran over my foot with a pushchair and pretended
Not to recognise me. Hard eyes. A weasly mouth caked
With lipstick: bright, blood red.
Page(s) 68
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