They used to talk about it
They used to talk about it
Before that last time
When he seemed to lose patience
Threw a tantrum
Walked into the night
Stayed out until the sun came up
She sat by the fire
Watching the kettle boil
Until the water dried
Took it off then
Using a piece of an old towel
Torn up to make kitchen rags
Sometimes he just looked at her
With that sullen vacant expression
He adopted when not really there
She didn’t know where he was
But he looked as lonely as the
Old scarecrow
Standing there all by itself
Up in the top field
Where nothing had grown
In the past five years
She knew he wanted to talk
But had lost his voice
Somewhere over by the churchyard
Under the angry looking Yew
Where they had all stood
In a circle around the hole
In the ground
Whilst the minister,
With the glass eye
And breath that smelled of camphor,
(Who she thought took a dram)
Said those awful words
Nobody ever wanted to hear
Who really cares about ashes and dust
She wanted her son
She missed her husband
How could she talk to him now
He had said enough was enough
But she knew it wasn’t
If it was, he would stay home
He would hold her
Like he used to do
Before he felt guilty about being alive
As if it was his fault the baby died
When she knew in her heart
It was something about her
If only she had done something more
Rested a little
Stopped working so hard
Realised the rash the little tyke had was serious
Hadn’t listened to the doctor
What did he know anyway
He was a bachelor,
Confirmed,
She thought he might even be past retirement
By now
He said it was nothing
Two days later
The baby died
How could that be anybody’s
Fault but hers
She was the mother, his mother
How could a father know how that feels
How could she tell him
When he walked away
Every time they got too close
To saying something meaningful
Sometimes even being in the same room
Felt like it was too much
She could feel the heat radiating off him
Enough to toast bread
Hot enough to blister skin
That’s when he shook his head
The light went out of him and he walked out
She wasn’t sure how much longer
She could take it
So much pain, too much anger
Perhaps there was no way back
For them now
Perhaps they were already dead
In which case
There was nothing left to be said
Enough was enough
They were done
Although she wasn’t quite ready for that
Not yet.