Kate Gray (1975-1991)
I start up a conversation
with occasional Kate. Too late,
too late, but with a big sigh
she appears in the sky.
I tell her the home doesn’t forget –
her mother’s lullaby step
still reaches the chair
where her father sits deep in the forest.
I hear myself saying
please and please and please;
I want to go back
to the start of the Nineties.
Sleepless night, big almond eyes,
and a hand rocks a pram in the passage;
from somewhere a long way
outside of our houses
the moon sends its light to this page.
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