Those Who Are Left

She sits on a bench outside Greggs,
Eating a cheap sausage roll,
Looking for ghosts on faces who pass
As one of the invisible few.
Her morning’s been spent window shopping at Marks
Wishing the spring sale to start,
Her trolley is full and beginning to tilt
From visiting all the pound shops.
She tries to guess jobs of those who walk pass
And conversations she’d have in her head,
In lost moments she thinks of lifetimes ago
That she carries in more than her bags,
Broken minutes she made that cannot be fixed,
Piercing words that put distance between
And stilted goodbyes at the end of the phone
That have become scarce since the death of her one.
In her heart she carries an old photograph
Of children she has never met,
Of a house and a dog that are oceans away
And Christmas cards that are always too late.
Next week she’ll sit outside the Cathedral
As the weather’s is starting to change
And sit and watch the people go by
Before, alone, she catches the train.

Copyright ©RMC April 2019

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash


4 thoughts on “Those Who Are Left

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