As the autumn day awakes,
she wraps her son
in the soft routines of morning,
and time is still.

The phone shrills on the wall –
his voice fragments –
    “darling … a hijack… I love you…”
— connections break.

She stares down at the phone,
at the clock
at weekend coats, his slippers,
the breakfast things…


and the future gapes at her feet.


Christine Rigden