THE CLOSED ROOM

You enter the windowless room,
grief closes and bolts the door.
You are alone in utter darkness.
Others, outside, beat upon
their own wailing walls
but you do not hear.

Time has no meaning inside this room.
Minutes pass like years until, one day,
a chink of life sneaks in, bringing
a tentative touch of warmth.
Soft voices hammer against the silence,
calling to be let in.

Cautiously, you unfasten
the self-indulgent safety-chain
and peer out once more
into a world still ceaselessly
turning around you, where loved ones
have been patiently pacing the floor,
ready to offer you the kiss of life.

Marion Sharville ©

CHILD MINDING

A clatter as the old box is
tipped out on to the kitchen table,
adding more clutter to the things
not yet cleared away.
Small hands reach for treasures.
Eyes large, tongue helping.
she concentrates on building a world.
Reality takes a back seat and life dances
between the butter dish and the sugar bowl.
The quietness is inlaid with the child’s soft humming.
Contentment settles like a
casually thrown cashmere shawl.

© Marion Sharville

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