Poem of the week: I’m not here yet

after Carol Ann Duffy, Before You Were Mine

I’m ten years away from the ship that sailed. You 

your brothers. Your sister left behind

the three of you running through the deckchairs shouting

 at each other or the legs, bruised by bats and balls, blue-black your hair 

the only thing tied back.

I’m not here yet, the thought of me doesn’t occur

on the deck with all the tall frowns, the cold 

tomorrows the three-week sail would bring. I knew you 

would play and shout like that. Before you were mine 

your dad kicked your chair and you sailed through the air, landed 

on your feet. Your exit sign. 

The decade ahead of my persistence was the best

The sepia photograph and the veil 

I found in the dressing-up box - concealing 

your escape plan - rested lightly, then fell away 

with you and all those yesterdays.

Count to 10 and hide. You’d run and shout in our 

narrow, neat suburban refuge.  My heart thumped

hoping you’d not go back 

to laundry. Even then

I wanted the skinny girl dodging brothers and legs

hiding between the deckchairs long before. Squealing 

freedom is all of this.