You said you’d never die
here. 

like a lover
the bee visits the tree
every day

He had been told the trolley
would be in the corridor at noon.
He could get sandwiches.
It was normally for mothers only

When I went round the next day
with a bottle of wine, his wife said
he was bruised down both sides

There’s no one in the flat when I come home from school,
my dinner in the fridge – poison on a flowered plate,
covered with tin foil, surrounded by full shelves of poison.

The sister I don’t have
has pockets bulging
with silver-foiled chocolate

On screen, Dad was
the radical –
 
the introverted
pen-and-notepad kind,

Sun comes out, my body opens
all its folding doors, its windows.

remember when we lived
in the shrubs? stewed in a shared
room. its stench. our own