I didn't cry when I folded Dad’s clothes into Bags For Life (irony not lost). Or when I made coffee for the efficient lady with the strong perfume who talked me through Probate. Or when I tried on his tweed jacket, shoulders jutting into the middle of next week, and found a grey hair. I didn’t cry as I waved Mum goodbye, smile a little weaker. But back home, when you brought me a cup of tea, silently put your arms around me, I was the brook, the ford, and the river. I was the whole of the North Sea.
Marie Little lives near fields and writes in the shed. Marie writes short fiction and poetry for adults and children and has a stationery habit. Find Marie at www.marielittlewords.co.uk and on Twitter @jamsaucer and @attielime.