Julie McElhone #11 Five Days

That was quick. And slow.

I let my girl go to camp.

I tried not to fret

I kept busy looking

For days I looked

I was myself at exhibitions,

in hostels, 

at galleries,

at home.

I got boozy and breezy,

like nothing meant much,

saw films and cried,

saw art and laughed.

I was myself in the world.

Then she burst through the station

And—bam—I’m whole again.

She got taller, I’m sure

Lanky. More herself

Without me.