The day dawned beneath frigid skies
in what counts for normal now.

My friend stops for coffee
stays for lunch.

I call to my daughter to buy bread –
she comes for some change,
and goes.

We talk of scarcity and recipes
not minding the clock,
sirens an accustomed
distant background

A rap at the door
and we notice the time.

‘That’s odd – that she should knock.’


Christine Rigden