Five Times
1
Mother rubs her eyes at the kitchen table. Says she’s drunk.
The midnight light stares at me, and I wait for the shade of bed.
2
I am almost naked under a duvet of dried grass cuttings.
The morning sun warms me in this hidden place, but does not tell.
3
Each night I fling saucepans across the floor to make space.
But there’s never enough time, and I can’t fit into the cupboard.
4
His evening anger reaches fingers into every room.
They pull me back through closed doors, towards him.
5
A blackbird watches me compound the dusk rain under a holly bush.
She wonders if I have food for her, or if I’ve become a threat.
Born in Lincolnshire and currently living in Hertfordshire, Anna Milan is an established copywriter. After a recent bipolar disorder diagnosis, she has rediscovered a love of the way poetry provides a mechanism to share the perspectives of others.