Marie Howe

The Landing

I stood beside the high cupboard that covered

the radiator in the hall (inside the drawers: the odd pencils and pins

we couldn’t find when we needed them)

near the front stairs that rose up and turned by the high windows.

What did we call that space? The landing.

All the pills had brought me to that place

And I understood that if I kept it all up . . .

no one would know me.

A dim light far in the distance? No.

To love – I had to be there.

I had to be there to be loved.