There we were on Primrose Hill,
my towheaded titan in his umbrella stroller,
and me, even then pursued by shadows, pushing
him before me, a beacon.

Or the molten sweetness of a Cadbury's Egg
as the sky lowered, and drop after drop
of summer rain caught us
between the playground, and Sainsbury's.

Mommy-and-me-ing. Napping. Attached to my hip.
Our picnics of bread and honey on the Heath.
The crumbs we did not feed to the swans,
I hold still, in my clenched fist,

for that boy, now lost in the dark.
Hours after the last bitter word, my gorge
severed, this battle lost, waiting for his
call. Waiting. Waiting for the will of the sun, to rise.