Coming Home


Home for summer break
you fill the kitchen,
all gangly limbed
and in possession
of a new language,
University coded slang
that raises the brows
of your siblings almost
as much as the
newly acquired
sense of dress.

You are in transition,
almost man, not quite above
the taunts of children
but equipped with a fresh sense
of where you wish to be.
You have evolved
beyond this kitchen, this town,
have grown so tall
I find myself wondering
how I ever held you aloft,
seated on my shoulders
at sports day, arms about my neck,
your dangling trainers leaving 
tread prints across my heart.


Drawer Life


On those days
when it is too hard
to stand tall,
I fold myself down
like a well-read letter,
slide my ego into 
a lavender-scented envelope
and file it away in
the dresser drawer.
There in amongst
the blu - tack and dust,
the partially melted
birthday candles,
I sit patiently waiting 
for my buckled knees
to lock once more
and my spine to straighten
... just a little.




Strike


I remember walking home
as the lights went out,
streetlamp after streetlamp
dying in sequence
as blown candles on a cake.
Giggling as I ran one to the other,
desperate to reach each circle of light
before it too was extinguished
and the ghostliness of shadows,
flickering behind curtains,
in the glow of hastily lit candles.
I remember climbing the stairs
to bed, peering out at the inky blackness
and wondering,
wondering
if God were part of the Union
would He also 'work to rule'
and if He did
would we dance desperately
from one pool of holy light
to another
whilst the stars turned out,
silver light by precious silver light.




Out of Sight


They searched for her
not knowing 
that she had melted
and slipped silently through
the cracks in the floorboard,
where she lay listening
to all those who called her name.
In time they went further,
demolishing walls in
a frenzied need to know
just where she had gone.
If they had looked closely
they might have noticed
the darker stained wood
and the sweet echo of herself
that lingered sorrowfully
in the hallway,
too afraid to leave
but not wanting to stay.



Gone


I left today
but you failed to notice.
such ghosts we have become,
I could have lain
unopposed in the doorway
as you sidestepped
a mild annoyance.
Perhaps I should have left a note,
a flight plan of sorts,
propped between toaster and kettle,
a hastily scrawled
'I have gone'
signed with smirking emoticon
by way of explanation.

©2014 Shelley Nutting