Christmas Away

Your mother let me write

on a small table

surrounded with books

and fragmented reminders

of another day.

I liked it there,

it was peaceful,

I could collect my thoughts

just as I would

at home.

I was still alone

but the pain eased slightly

as you would bring me

black coffee 

at the start of morning.

I still can’t believe 

I didn’t write my

best work there,

on that small table

with one leg missing

and only one chair

fit to sit on.


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