Under the railway bridge
in Rockingham Street,
Benedict met his cousin
who said: your mum’s home
with your twin sisters,
best get home quick.
So he did and when he
got to the flat where
they lived he found
his mother holding
one of the babies
in an armchair,
breast feeding her.
His mother said his
other sister was in
the cot in her bedroom.
He entered the bedroom quietly.
He approached the cot
and looked over. There she was
his youngest sister, asleep.
Now he had to share
his mother with two more;
his other sister and brother
and he made five.
A five way split.
Less shares.
But not necessarily
less love or attention.
His mother had
a unique way
of stretching love
and attention
like a magican.
He smiled down
at the baby, touched
the dark curly hair
with a finger.
The baby stirred.
He withdrew his finger
and stood and stared.
After a few minutes
he returned to his mother
and the other sister.
The other baby was plumper,
more rounded,
chubby cheeks and such.
His mother looked tired,
drained. He hadn’t seen her
for a few weeks, except
short hospital visits, once
he remembered he stood
outside in the evening air,
staring up at the sky
with moon and stars.
His mother laid the baby
in the cot with the other.
They lay there together
in separate sleeps,
occupying their own
new dreams, hands
tight in tiny fists.
He watched while his mother
went off to prepare tea.
After a short while he left
the room and drew
the door shut
with a gentle click.
One hand on the door,
the other on the handle,
drawn towards him
did the trick.