by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

She stands in the doorway
if she should stay or leave…
It would be easy
to pack a suitcase.
She wouldn't need much.
But she'd miss the fragrance
of viburnum blossoms,
the precision of
the geometric designs
on the tiles she had memorised.
The tiles made from the clay
dug up from the hillock
below the house
when the men had drilled for oil.
She'd miss the long walks
above the sea,
the cry of seagulls,
the pipping of terns,
but she told herself
she would not miss him.


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