The Stairs - Poem by Tracy Bucknell
Peering through the banister,
Her small hands gently embrace her knee's
as she sits, neither up nor down,
All doors are closed.
The tall walls of the landing hold space as tight as her embrace.
The sound of chips frying, surrounds her taste buds,
As the stain glass panels in the front door throw colours cascading off the walls.
The electric meter dial stands still with the glimmer of a cocktail stick.
The sounds of household bustle, echo, amplified, but doesn't fill the silent place.
Mother and daughter preparing the plate.
The slam of next doors gate
The tall walls of the landing hold space
as tight as her embrace.
As she sits on the outside looking in
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