Mrs Clarke pushed
her battered bassinet
between market stalls

not listening
to the stallholder’s
shouts and calls

Helen walked behind her mother
as told holding your hand
So I know where you are

Mrs Clarke had said
you sensed
Helen’s small hand

in yours
her seven year old skin
touching your

seven year old flesh
her thin fingers
encircling yours

We’ll see if they’ve got
a school skirt
for you here

her mother said
turning back her head
Helen nodded

and you noticed
Helen’s enlarged eyes
behind her thick lens

spectacles
searching her mother’s
large behind waddling on

stopping now and then
beside stalls
picking up clothes

searching for a skirt or dress
grey and the right size
Helen whispered to you

putting her head
close to yours
Rice pudding for tea

when we get home
with red jam
and sugar too

if you want
and she smiled
and you said shyly

That’s good
because I’m starving
she looked at your hand

in hers and said
Then we can play
mums and dads

and my dolls
can be our family
her mother stopped

and picked up a skirt
and held it up
to the light

then held it against
her daughter’s waist
judging for size

and you watched
her mother’s hands
red with washing

and cleaning
thinking and gauging
the size and cost

as you studying
Helen’s hand in yours
like a soul lost.