She stood at the top of the stairs
clutching the newel-post, knees sagging.
Her moan brought me running: just then
Dad came in the front door past
the foot of the stairs carrying
groceries. She stretched out her arms
past me, to him, weeping. He looked up
for a moment then carried on to the kitchen
eyes down muttering “Got to put things away”.
When I reached up to her, she pushed me away
with the vehement weakness of an invalid,
saying “It was him I wanted”.
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