The Visit.

The dusty carpet tickles my feet
as I sit and wait,
wait,
wait,
for the door to go.

I wonder if he wants to see me or if -

The sun lowers past the garden shed
overgrown with ivy.
It is late.

In my mind I shall trace the wrinkles that will have grown around his bright eyes.

Summer glow stretches out the garden,
the trees, the fields beyond.
It seems so far away.

I wonder if he thinks of years ago and the day I didn’t stop crying.

The T.V is losing its colour and crackles,
I open a window to let in the air.
I need freshness, newness.

I will remember the moment I open the door so I can play it over and over.

Time ticks on,
and the singing birds slowly quieten
down, into the dusk.