Tomorrow afternoon
We will drag your too big suitcase
In through the front door.

(((We will hug each other tight.)))
Because you made it back home
To the place where you are most missed.

After you’ve had your (prebooked) bubble bath
We will unzip the suitcase and pull out
The remnants of a week.

And you will tell me
The story of what went on
The week you went to Camp.

These are the trousers
That got soaked when you built a raft
And crossed a river, with your friends.

And these are the tops
With marshmallow stains, and stories,
And the scent of smoky bonfires in the dark.

Here are the teddies
Which mostly you didn’t need
Because you were too busy being grown up.

This is the torch that lit your way
Through night forests and into a clearing
Where stars pricked the sky.

(The battery ran out, by the way.)

And these are the books
That you read in the snatched moments
Because you had to know what happened next.

Oh and this? Oh, this is only the camera
That had no chance of capturing what happened
The week you went to Camp.

This entry was posted in Children, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.