confessions are self-serving

Tag: sadness

The last wash

I knew
even before I put it on
that there would be strict segregation
on the clothes horse;
it would be too much
to have to pick you away
from me
like gristle out of gap in gum.

I was almost breathless
by the end
of it, looking at your tiny socks
lined like POWs against a church wall
waiting to be shot.

With heavy shoulders
and great effort the last
shirt was hung;

the last of it,
the last of us.


I write streams
of journals about woe, about life.
I decide
what is worth sorrow,
I say to my sister–
come on, it’s late
get to bed–
I can’t help smiling
at her tear streaked cheeks
or at the unfairness of the world.

Mum’s sadness
is muddier, and it touches my inexperience.
I live somewhere
in between loud hot tears
and a spanked bum,
and sighs
that make their escape
through a smile
over the sink.