Total Pageviews

Thursday, 10 May 2012


It was a brown suitcase,
common around 1960,
scuffed and battered,
not that it mattered,
the luggage was not as important
as the leaving.

When the door closed,
seven young kids,
three girls, four boys,
returned to their toys,
unaware of what had just happened,
family abandoned.

My father left home,
left my mother,
left us,
didn't look back
as he boarded the bus.

Watching an old film the other day,
I saw a brown suitcase, scuffed and battered,
reminding me of the night he left,
reminding me why it really mattered.

No comments:

Post a comment