Making Up

When I was about ten, and perhaps feeling neglected

for four younger siblings, though I couldn’t have said so,

or even known it, I told my mother I was running away.

I said this good-naturedly

and she replied good-naturedly, OK.

Then I went up the road, half a mile, to Dogpatch,

which is what we called it since moving out.

That was farther away than usual for me,

and I stayed till dusk, when my friends went in.

When I got home the lights were on.

Mum was scrubbing the floor and crying.

She hugged me hard and I cried too.

We were close ever after.