I remember how as a child
we would draw the drapes
in respect of the person
who was being buried that day.

Playing in the street was forbidden
as in black overcoat we were forced
to dress her -
until all the mourners had prayed up their
pity - before
making their way back home again,
full of tea, and cheap shop bought, cake.

How still today
I fear the sight of those windows
with their drapes pulled and clinging
stealing the light, from my vision.
Probing into the recesses; of

of my lost, childhoods rejection.

Poppy January 2014 ~**~