Where are you now my child?
Do you continue in some far off place?
Are you out of reach, but still seeing?
Do you sense my grief?
If I were happy,
Would you know?
I search my mind,
My heart, my soul,
For some small part of you.
But nothing.
For when you died,
I ceased to exist.

The Birthday Gift

The Birthday Gift

by Anne E Thompson

The days before your birthday,

Were spent meandering the towns of Italy.

Narrow cobbled streets giving shade,

From the dry heat of morning sun.

Watched by hawk-like black eyes,

That willed me to buy their crafts,

I wandered past carefully stacked offerings

Enticing me to buy for you.

Shiny leather slippers waited by the door,

Beckoning me to feel their supple smoothness.

The spicy smell of leather wallets,

Heaped in mounds on trays, and belts

Hung like skinned snakes, buckles glinting.

A sailing shop, with each nook

Stuffed with polished wood barometers,

Metallic bells with tan handles,

Nautical ornaments to clutter your study,

Telescopes that would never see.

I could imagine your smile of anticipation,

As your large hands carefully unfolded

Bright wrapping paper, your smile of delight.

The “Thank you Annie”, as you lean forwards,

For a kiss that smells of mints

And aftershave.

But I left Italy without a gift,

Bearing instead another empty space within.

For the last gift I was ever to buy you,

Were the flowers,

For your grave.


By Anne E Thompson

You stand as the beautiful girl I loved,
But I know,
Inside you are deformed by grief.
A hunched old woman,
Clutching emotions tightly,
Lest another should shatter,
Into artery slicing shards.
Pools of laughter have bled from your eyes,
They harbour the shadows of ghosts.
The dead are in everything you see.
Your words, sane, pleasant, kind,
Carefully constructed in your mind,
Never touching your heart.
The core of you is gone.
I live beside the puppet you.
And wonder if you,
The real you,
Can grow again.


Goodbye By Anne E Thompson

I went to say goodbye,
But you had already gone.
Just your scrumpled body was there,

Your skin was cold,
And rubbery,
And one eye was slightly open,
But unseeing.

There were no sounds of you,
Or even smells.
The air was calm,
There was not even a tingle of you.

I squeezed your arm,
It was solid and unmoving.

I tried to speak,
To think you words.
But I had nothing to say.

You knew that I loved you,
You had hugged me many times.
I know you were pleased with me.

So I am left,
With a chasm of missing you.
Remembering happy times,
And few regrets.

I went to say goodbye,
But you hadn’t waited.

There was nothing

You needed to hear.



by Anne E Todd

The great Healer
Has not healed.
Has not numbed
The yearning to see you.

I need to hear
Once more your laugh.
To see you
Smile in surprise,
To wrap myself
In the comfort of your advice.

Love has not eddied
Need had not lessened
Longing has not weakened
Has not healed.