together we laid,
to look through the wide open door.
There sits a girl, handball we played,
and I love her all the more.
A woman is waiting – crying inside,
but though I can’t see it,
she’s moving on,
and the door not open as wide.
I move even closer,
and peek through the half open door.
There is a young mum and son,
who I can’t remember when I left,
but now this house is his nest.
As I reach to grab the handle:
I just have to walk through that door,
a big dark shape slams it shut,
and I know I’m not wanted anymore.
[I wrote this simple poem in 2007 when I was in a bit of a mess. The photo below is of the little boy mentioned - just last week - wearing my glasses, the cheeky little monkey.]