On a suicide

The morning he never faced

That morning
- the morning he never faced -
I was wrapping his school books,
I was remembering his words,
I was remembering my words:
“Don’t worry about it”,
I said.

“Mum, I don’t want to go.
I will not go tomorrow…
Some older boys annoy me
All the time.
Mum I don’t want to go!”

I listened as I cooked his tea
By the moonlit window.
“Don’t worry about it,
I said. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”

“Mum I am scared,
I am scared of the dark.
I do not want to go out
Of your house.”

Again, I listened as I sewed
His name tag on new term clothes.

My son, my pride, my sorrow!
I lavished those words on your babyhood,
I looked forward to watching you grow…

That morning
- the morning he never faced-
I had his books, his clothes,
His packed lunch ready.
But by then he had put an end
To the morning already.

That morning
- the morning he never faced –
I was looking forward to waking him,
I was looking forward to the day before us,
Lit by his smile, his laugh, his warmth.

I listened out again,
As I prepared his bowl
By the brightening window:
“Don’t worry about tomorrow…”

(I used to complain about the noise,
Now the silence is deafening.)