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,
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!