Helen Cadbury

My boy is eighteen today

He didn’t die in the shallow waters of a Turkish beach.
He wasn’t carried high on his father’s shoulders
at the storming of the Macedonian border.
He won’t sleep tonight in the subway beneath
Keleti station, nor will he run between cars
on the Calais motorway, or climb on the roof of a train.

Your boy will not see another birthday,
his suffering is over, his joy is over, his smile
is over. The bear he holds in the photo is over.
It keeps happening, over and over, on my screen
and in the water, on the road, the rail track,
while my boy wakes, and turns eighteen today.

What can I say?

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9 comments

      1. Indeed, the chance of birth, or country, or circumstance is brought home to us when we think about how very similar we all are.

        Like

  1. great initiative. I’m trying to do something similar with a group of actors. I think literature, art and theatre are important at times of crisis

    Liked by 2 people

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