Little Losses

My tired has a memory.

My mouth, thick, reminds me of
Little bodies wanting, bleating
The faint perfume of last month’s virus,
Head heavy on the earth beside their beds.
Or of the lack of her.
Wanting little bodies, weeping
Awake, awake at 2am, 3am
Eyes staring, burning

I was a little body too.
And tired in it.
Asleep across a plastic airport seat.
My parents expressionless in greenish light.
My brother on his belly on the floor with
A purple-grey dinosaur
My sister, littler still, her small hand flexing
Breast and wanting more.

Perhaps
One day
I will fondly recall
Wheelie cases
Food in miniature
Unfamiliar bed linen
Red-eye-long-haul
Rushing, rushing
Taxis In the rain
Little faces at the window
Waving – going –crying – returning
To the glee of
MUMMYMUMMYMUMMYMUMMY

And in the tired ache of old bones
I’ll forgive the me who sought
Exhaustion
Who crammed life in to every second
Every fucking second
Even now here
Car, plane, train, tube, train
And still I write
No rest for me
Just the joy of tired
And my memory.