The Leaving

Caught up in a whirlwind
of buying duvets and curtains,
mugs, plates and bowls,
electric kettles, and toasters.
Doing the rounds at IKEA...
getting dizzy just finding
the way out.

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 bibs, nappies,
highchairs and stair-gates.
Staying up all night...waiting
for that key to turn in the lock.

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.

She waved goodbye, through
the leaves of a potted, avocado,
lovingly grown from seed, nestling
on her knee, which she couldn’t
leave behind; blew a kiss,
cupped in her hand, so fragile
so white, as they hit the open road.
Like a fledgling, leaving the nest...
a dove, on its maiden flight.