Untimely #18 - Twenty-Two-Zero-Eight-Two-Thousand-and-Ten. Twenty-Seven. Fifty-Three. Eighty-Two. Twenty-Seven.

On the verge of leaving, returning home,

silent after chatter. Mum, your daughter,

on the bench by the wall, clears her throat. You

sat there once but sit on the folding chair

now, on the grass. At an angle, I too

sit, also on the grass, on the wooden

chair you brought from the bedroom. Helena,

also on the bench by mum, makes the square.

Rising we break the unsnapped moment in

a clatter of cups, dredging up a knot

of discarded jackets and cardigans

which mum untangles and hands out as we

pass back through the back bedroom returning

the wooden chair back by the wall, all square.