My arm stretches up,
squeezing her hand, stumbling through
a forest of legs.
~
Afterwards we’ll laugh. Why are
we always rushing to catch the boat?
Every time, the very last time!
~
But today is different. Special.
All the people, waving, smiling, sharing food,
the laughter and joy, tears and singing!
~
Mum has been crying all day.
She keeps rubbing my back, squeezing my
hand tighter. And I know why.
~
The bad people are
sorry. They’re letting us go.
~
We’re going to see dad.
Nicholas Rowe Poetry 