Where’s all the time gone?
Ceili asked, watching her daughter
Play hopscotch in the street,
The way the small legs moved,
The excitement, the curls
Up and down as the head rose and fell.
She’d been that little once,
Long ago, before the dark
Plunge and the wasted years
And the booze and so.
The girl turned and stared,
Gave a grin, a strained
Uncertain grin,
Which seemed to welcome,
But won’t let her in.
Not too near, not to hurt,
Not again, not again.
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