Growing is the strange death
In life that nobody mourns  Elizabeth Smart

What are you doing?
Sitting still doing nothing
like it says in this book.
Books books books!
then she threw them
down the stairs.


I feared this
growing up
his early morning rising
buckling a gabardine
taking a hat from behind the door
and the thought
of her being there
dressed in a housecoat
anticipating the dust of my absence
in every corner

and the snap tin
would be on the draining board
packed up the night before
and it too at eleven exactly
would open its aluminium jaws
and mock me with the secrets
of another life
that no one speaks of

for dust has settled here
from stars that went out overnight
and there is fluff
in the lining of my pockets.

And then God came to me
as in a dream and said
I give you cheese and pickle
for you are my well-beloved.