PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Mary wakes from
her, troubled, uneasy
sleep. She turns and
sees Alice behind her

looking at her. What
are you doing here?
she asks, sitting up,
looking down at the

child. Wanted to be
near you, Alice replies.
You can't come into

my bed, what will

they say if they find
you here? Mary's voice  
rises higher than she

meant. They won’t,

Alice says, no one
knows. They'll miss
you, Mary says, look

for you, and if they come,

what then? The child
sits up, rubs her eyes.
I'll hide, she says. Mary

sighs, lays back on the

bed, looks at the ceiling.
The child lies next to her,
head on her thin shoulder.

You can't do this, Alice.

But I have, the child says.
Your bed's lumpy. If they
find you in here, I’ll lose

my job and God knows

what'll happened then.
There is black spider
creeping along the dull

ceiling, slow movements.

We mustn't tell them,
Alice says. She runs a
small finger along

Mary's arm. You can't

stay here, Mary says,
you must go back to
your own bed before

they find you've gone.

Don't you love me any
more? Alice softly asks,
looking sideways at the

maid beside her. Yes,

of course I do, but this
mustn't happen again.
I'll be gone, then who

will you have to love,

now your mother's ill
and locked up? Alice
frowns and looked at

her hands, small, white,

pink. Mother used to
let me into her bed and
cuddle her. Her pink

fingers join and she

makes. I'm not your
mother, Mary says,
I’m just a maid who

wants keep her job.

Alice looks at her.
You said you'd be my
adopted mother. Mary

looks at her biting a lip.

Yes, I did. She looks
away, at the window
where lights begins

to show. All right,

but you must go back
now, before you're
missed. Can I come

another time? Alice

asks, her bright eyes
gazing. Yes, if I say so,
no creeping into my

bed at night unless

I know, Mary says.
Alice nods her head.
Best get back then,

she says. Be careful.

I will. And if I’m seen,
I’ll say I was sleep
walking, Alice says.

You mustn't lie, Mary

says. Should I tell them
the truth then? Alice asks,
smiling, getting down

from the bed. Be careful,

sleep walk just this once.
The child nods, opens the
door and closes with a

click. Mary gets out of

bed, opens the door, looks
along the dim passage.
The child has now gone.

Silence. Cold morning

air. A hard frost maybe.
What if she's seen? What
then? She shuts the door,

pours cold water from a

white jug into a white bowl.
Morning wash. Hands
into the water and throws

into her face. The coldness

wakes her. Far off a bird
sings. What if she's found
out of bed? What a turn up.

Poor kid. Me another mother

Nearby a church bell rings.