A young woman with her skeleton emerging
still refuses to eat
and grows lighter and lighter.
Her parents rock in their grieving disbelief,
their feet growing roots into the earth.

I phone my aunt in her distant nursing home
and she does not know who I am.
I sigh and send her a postcard,
a brief note of adamant love to stop her
turning into stone.

A stranger tells me the story
of his daughter who is pregnant and single.
He seems to be a stoic, regular meat and potatoes man.
But then he slumps in the chair and starts
weeping a lake.
His large love and fears for her
stand up before us.