Interlude

Interlude

‘We keep falling like spiders’
she said to Simon,
this breaks’ no more than a free fall.

Three weeks later Simon
makes a map of all the conversational clauses
she used and sticks it next to the bathroom sink.

His mother makes wide webs,
offers him a place between her collarbone and breast,
crisis cups of callendula tea

spaghetti plates half on the counter, half in air
next to notes which say
‘make the best.’

She leaves him once
and in Asda finger frees two cans of Caffreys
while his nose bleeds
and his eyes stop at angles
like a paper plane caught in leaves.