When they left she saw no
need to Scotch guard carpets.
Yet, last Christmas, his Merlot
triple jumped her favourite

Berber. She felt defiled;
He just denied the damage.
Red pearls trapped in deep pile.
She knew the sudden spillage

again of breaking waters.
Julie scrubbed for relief,
knelt, devoted daughter,
bristles clenched as teeth.

Catching loose threads
of bitten words, she kneaded
the blotches bigger instead.
He was shelved and receded,

but he was still mummy’s
boy, her warp and weft.
A stain soured memories
of the lie he had left.

Behind her crystal glass,
his face was shattered.
Threadbare, she saw him refill.
Nothing else mattered.

Helen Kay

If you have any comments on this poem, Helen Kay would be pleased to hear from you.