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Watching over each other,

sometimes all we need is a presence,

By Jeannine KauffmannPublished 3 years ago 2 min read
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Watching over each other,
Photo by Damla Özkan on Unsplash

Remembering that day in June when I moved in the flat,

Over four years already,

Round of parties, every evening that week,

But times flies, things happen.

Days melt into days and not a lot is left as memories

For the long winter evening.

But that same year in august one morning,

I was woken up by a baby’s cry.

Really loud, in the early morning light,

I closed the window, but the wailing

Was there still, shrill and disturbing.

I knew there were no babies in my building.

In the end I got up and oh no four o’clock,

And walked to the living room

To get a better view,

To look out for lights in somebody’s window.

Nothing but still the sound did not think of quietening

And gave me goosebumps,

I scrutinised the road again,

And then I saw a form,

A bit like a rugby ball on sticks,

Grey background with speckles, sitting on my balcony wall.

And I looked and started talking to the crying seagull,

Way to young to be left alone out there.

Must have lost her mummy

On her first trip out in to the big world,

How she ended up on my balcony I will never know

I had slept through that bit, dead to the world.

But then we looked at each other

And slowly the wailing became less intense,

I threw a few crumps at her

She caught some of them.

Once she was quiet and settled

I went back to bed to give her the space

To fly away

Or for the mum to find her,

When I got up later to put the kettle on

I remembered my night visitor,

And I turned to the window,

And somebody was outside looking in at me.

Breakfast for me and more crumbs for her,

I went off to my day.

And for nearly a week I had a companion,

Sitting on the balcony ledge,

Spending most of the day

And her nights there in my company.

One day she was gone…

I forgot about her.

But the following year and every so often since

I get a visitor,

Sitting on my balcony,

Sometimes for a moment,

Sometimes for a few days.

Like an old friend coming back for a bit of catching up.

To check up on me,

And what will she do, now that I moved.

heartbreak
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About the Creator

Jeannine Kauffmann

Poetry writer in the early morning. Poetry as a wake up call. Then later I draw lines and colours. I have a page on Instagram my art other than words although it contains words too. Titles are important to finish a piece like a full stop.

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