Haibun: St Thibery

Our house is tall. Bedrooms tuck in corners off a curving staircase up three floors.

When you come striding along the station platform I hug you and grab your backpack to carry. We’ve been living in different countries for too long.

We sleep, work on a huge jig-saw puzzle, you make a chocolate cake. We talk and talk.

One night at bedtime you come into my room, eyes shining,

‘Mum, do you want to have a sleepover in my room tonight? I’ve made up the other bed for you.’

I go up the next flight of stairs. In the room, lamplight, two little red-covered beds turned back, the window curtain fluttering.

Without thinking, I refuse.

Still the knife of memory twists in me.

 

after midnight

owl’s cry

light at six

 

last night’s sunset

a blessing

otters at play

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