I don’t feel like writing real stuff today, Ms H.

So here is a poem I wrote:

You came
and I thought:
Now things will be better.
You’re here and he
will see you and he’ll
smile
and everything
will be normal again.
You hugged me and
we sat
together
at the kitchen table.
Talked.
We talked about work
and school
and all those things that
seem unimportant
when compared with
what I really wanted to talk about.
And then,
as we talked,
you said that name.
‘Phillip.’
And the way you said it,
it was like you had a flower petal
in your mouth,
and your cheeks turned pink
and my heart shrivelled.
And then they came.
My mother and father.
And I thought they’d be pleased
to see you, too,
but they made me come
to another room
and they told me I’d done wrong.
And I heard,
from above me,
the sound of someone on the landing.
A heavy sound.
‘Is she here?’ he said.
And I called back, ‘Yes,’
and he told me
he’d never forgive me.