The Leaving

Caught up in a whirlwind
of buying duvets and curtains,
mugs, plates and bowls,
electric kettles and toasters.

So much so, I’d not considered
what it would be like – the leaving.
It didn’t seem five minutes ago,
I’d been buying highchairs
and baby-grows.

The rain was coming down
in stair-rods as they drove off
that morning in a clapped out
Morris Minor. The car packed
to the gills with duffle-bags
and hold-alls – my daughter
and her friend.

Waving goodbye, just in sight,
through the leaves of a potted
avocado plant, lovingly grown
from seed which she couldn’t
leave behind, was her hand,
so fragile, as they hit
the open road.