Christine Coleman
Seventeen
The stages of your childhood still
squat in the attic
with Otter and Humpty Dumpty
and Blakeney Bear.
Your eyes, my family’s blue.
Behind them, a stranger
who locks the bedroom door
and lies entrenched
in noisy curtained gloom
at two in the afternoon.
I always wanted you to be yourself
but did we ever speak the same language?
Would you know what I meant
if I said I feel you now
afraid
in no-man’s-land?
Page(s) 23
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