“I walk into a room,
someone pats a chair beside them.
I don’t look them in the eye,
but admire their brown loafers.
‘How are you, kiddo?’
Her voice is sincere.

‘Good.’
I lie.

I walk into a room,
she pats the chair again.
This time, I sit down.
Her trousers have a stripe.
‘How are you, kiddo?’
Her voice is soft.

‘I’m okay.’
I choke back.

I walk into a room.
she pats the chair like usual.
I look up carefully,
she has the slightest lines.
‘How are you, kiddo?’

‘I don’t know.’
I recognise my own face.”

A.V.

“Across me, there sits grief.
A person dressed in colours.
He tells me that the missing stays.

His eyes are like the marbles,
out the jar I sold.
His arms I do remember,
though now they are a little cold.

Across me, there sits grief.
A figure so well known.
He says he comes in waves.

The details are a little vague,
the sun had burnt it black.
But their fading voices,
still tell me about love.”

A.V.