A poem: ‘Day out of Time’

It occurred to me, after we spoke earlier, to write you a letter. With a pen on paper, for you to read when you’re older. To let you know, it wasn’t your fault that I left.

It was confusing. One day, I was packing boxes, crushing your heart, driving away, bawling. But Darling, it wasn’t because of you.

Children think everything is their fault. But you were a miracle to me; you are a miracle to me. The light you shone on my life was so bright, it cleared my vision. Those days with you were immense; an honour. Your effervescence, I could almost touch it like your small hand so big in mine.

On this day out of time, my waters tell me to tell you this, in case my days are more numbered than I realise. I can’t know how many I have left with these teeth in my head. So while the idea’s there, I’ll keep the pen moving and write it.

In the event of my death, there’ll be an envelope in my desk drawer with your name on it. Take it and read the letter inside when you’re bigger. No need to wait till you’re as big as Dad, but when you’re like your cousin David big.