Mother and Father used to sit
and spill the contents of their day
into that warm unwinding bath,
a splash of red wine & mutual love
that is often barren
in my memories,

as the baths became separate
& the red wine swapped for blood.
And the bathroom
that felt like the recipe 
for true loves survival
overflows at the feet of my innocence,

as I sink into this bath,
and spill away my ...

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Home before 8 he’d say,
dinner on the table,
but the clock struck 
quarter past my patience,
and the milk he’d sought out
had curdled,
sister and I
will have burnt toast tomorrow.
But no loss for he,
his thirst had been quenched,
feasting on white lies 
and mother’s restless sighs.

An appetite fit for a king he’d say,
but so far could he fall 
from those kingdom castle steps.

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