September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
Chris Major
Left

The last time I saw her
she was shuffling about the village,
looking as lost as she did 25 years ago,
when bouncing from one playground group to another,
trying to jemmy her way
with stiff awkward sentences
into the gaps of childish conversation.
Always the one left,
the last picked for any team,
so hurt, with a false smile beam
now spanning decades,
throwing shadows on this weekday afternoon.
The last time I saw her
she was shuffling about the village;
people tell me she'd made many friends,
and that it was six and a half weeks
before the body was found.