Stitch This

The really weird thing is
I can never remember
The day you left us for good.
When mum died the day was stamped in my memory
I may as well write it in blood .
But you, you with your quietness, you slipping away
from your mind
Where did you go?
Or is the real mystery A temporal one
Not where, but when did you go?

My baby was four weeks old when you died
He’d only just got out of hospital
But you didn’t make it to even hold hands.
You left, as you should, to go home.

How do you explain to others around
The date doesn’t matter at all
What matters is that you were all by yourself and
I couldn’t enter your world.

You’d have kicked me out anyway
Sent me back home
Told me to go back
To love
Because all you wanted was us to do well
And live a good life, drink good wine.

So although the date doesn’t matter at all
I will always be your girl at heart.
You loved us, we had you
For that I am gFateful
And I still love physics and art.