A time to be grateful for what was,
To say what went unsaid
And hold close those you love
That’s what a funeral is for
She’s already found peace in the
Place reserved for her
Free of every earthly hardship
An unmarked emptiness in need of signage.
Where are the big red letter signs Left Home
In the estate agents’ catalogues?
One embrace, one cooked dinner, one pair of apron strings, all to let.
One flown nest, not the same, semi-detached, open for lease.
It’s not until recently
that I have come to understand
quite how much of a
thankless task
being a parent can be.
I used to be able
To smell a birthday from mile
I’d hunt down the love-wrapped gifts
Trying to guess what was in the pile
Sometimes I think: “imagine if the world saw me now”
As I skip around the hall,
a tall, blond haired fool,
with my shirt on my head,
and instead of jeers
from my peers, I hear cheers
as my sister and brothers,
