Once, there was a four by four that careered to a stop 

blacking the country lane. The diagonal wailed 

‘you’ve lost her! we’ll hold you!’ so Uncle Mark poured 

out the hunky seat in suit and white, pounded over to Dad 

and grabbed the pup in his knitwear. That day I was mature 

enough to be left, alone by my Mother’s open grave, 

work out for myself when to leave, catch up with the party. 

Wait for me? No one to watch. The beginning of absence. 

Cousin Miriam was second to last, distraught red hair, 

watching my age, high shoulders making a triangle 

of her narrow stand. She preferred slip-ons. At Auntie 

Jane’s, we stood on the decking under ambiguity, adults 

quantifying me as mum-less. I returned their eyeballs. 

A sip of Appletiser. The dark night and Doritos.