Nigel Kent

Find the lady

You told me once
that when you were small
you loved to hide.

Always the same place:
in the cupboard beneath the stairs
under a crocheted blanket,
with the door ajar
to keep the demons
of the dark at bay.

Your mum feigning
panic and desperation,
would shout for you:

Oh no! Where’s Lucy gone?
Where’s my girl? 
Lucy! Lucy!

Ignoring the giggles
and the wriggles 
in the shadows,
she would let you 
surprise her,
let you leap out 
for a rapturous reunion.

Well, you’re better 
at hiding now:
camouflaging deception
with lies and smiles.

You’re the dark 
mistress of misdirection,
of the dexterous sleight of hand.

Now-I-see-you,
now-I-don’t.

You’re love’s illusionist
who dazzles to deceive,
who turns lover into friend
guilt into innocence
suspicion into delusion

Now-I-know-you.
Now-I-don’t.

who leaves me 
standing by the window 
believing in the certainty
of a rapturous reunion

Flights, Issue Ten, September 2023