A pair of poems



When I grew up

I left you

hiding at my mother’s house,

you crept into a crack

and we were lost

in two directions –

present and past

seen and unseen.

I remember hatless sunburned days

riding my bike, and

you were there too, my lovely shadow

foot to foot on the pedal

as we pushed away


At night, we curled up snug as baby mice

under the duvet, reading stories by the glow

from amber streetlights outside.

And when they argued,

and the room shook like a galleon caught in a gale,

you covered my eyes with your hands.

I left you hiding at my mother’s house


last night I saw you,

peering out of the mirror,

the mirror at my house,

and I saw your black eyes widen

as you saw me.





You left me hiding at your mother’s house,

I crept into a crack

between the walls

between past and present

unseen and seen.

I tried to catch your fingers in mine,


you slipped through them,

transient as spring rain over rooftops.

Once you loved me

and my coat of dusky velvet shone,

now, I am withered, and snarled,

drawn in upon myself,

for, what is a shadow without light?

I found you in your reflection,

silver glass distorting your face.

I am no longer your perfect twin,

lost, abandoned.

I am the cast off of your past,

a fledgling trapped in the weave of the nest,

unable to fly.


This is a re-working of the ‘Invisible Friend’ pair of poems I have posted previously. I have redrafted and restructured them, hopefully they work a bit better now! 



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