Guilt

Quietly you stand beside my bed.
My eyes are closed,
I’m sleeping so it seems.
You stroke my cheek, gently
with the backside of your hand.
My cheek is wet.
I almost cease to breathe
and just lie still,
and through the wall I hear the sound:
It’s still raining.

Finally you leave the bedroom,
closing the door, just almost,
not to make the dark complete
and I take a deep breath;
opening my eyes at last.
The wall-paper in front of me
is patterned with little brown dashes.
It’s ugly. I’m ugly.
‘Cause I didn’t dare to look at you and say:
"Forgive me mum!"