when the visitors departed
the pen rests were broken
and the ink had been spilled

when the visitors departed
the pen rests were broken
and the ink had been spilled

We stood on the doorstep, flames flickering behind us, and watched him walk away. He did not turn around.
‘Who was that?’ I looked at my mother. ‘Why did he smile and call me his?’
‘All in good time’, she said, her voice strange, and put her arm around me.