EleanorTurney.co.uk

The house is quiet
the baby subdued
and the left-behind-men surly.

They are not used
to obeying a woman.
Tough.

We all see the same sky
from casement,
deck or battlements.

Loneliness is not a word
I feel entitled too
so soon.

His clever eyes
were on the horizon
even as we kissed.

He walked early
stumbled rarely.
He grew fast
cried last.
Never learned to share
or refuse a dare.
Ate his greens.

Now in his teens
he struts and preens.
Has his father’s eyes,
muscled thighs.
Adolescent sighs.

He’s hard to rear.
Wish you were here.