I came here three times as a child. The first
was for a birthday party
for which I was dressed in yellow
when all the other girls wore pink.
The second time was an
act of desperation
I had lost my parents and rushed in crying
all hot-faced steamy tears and panic
they let me use the telephone.
During the third time
my mother told me The News
how things had changed
her eyes like bullets, boring
into my head. I didn’t
remember much else really
apart from the gooey caramel in my chocolate slice
and the way the sunlight slipped in
This poem was second in the Whitireia Eat Your Words poetry competition. It has been published, along with other competition poems in Eat Your Words: Wellington Cafe Poems. Email email@example.com for your copy.
Used with the permission of Whitireia Publishing and Ish Done.
This poem has been posted as part of the Tuesday Poem scheme.