The curtains have begun to close

and through the dim light

afforded the scene, I see

in your eyes that it takes

a minute or two

for you to remember who I am,

the boy you raised in summer’s

warmth on an island and clotted cream

and to whom I revered as the fiercest

of storms, a one woman army

not dictated to by a single man,

in your eyes, it took a moment

and longer to remember me

and those eyes, frightened, lost