We spent years together, your knees tucked
into me; I in your lap.
We didn’t quite make the right noises,
so often in touch.
Your fingertips could make me sing;
and I made you sing.
We enjoyed that we annoyed the rest;
at Christmas let them in.
A decade of darkness as if light itself had left.
I was cold and mute,
gathering dust that muffled my broad heart,
slackened my strings,
until our strange reunion. Now we share the house.
You don’t come near
although your little ones do – I love it when they play,
its effect on you.