Jacob Mckibbin
we used to visit sylvia
every wednesday evening.
my dad would bring
a different DVD every week.
stopped when sylvia
said the flat had gone dark
& the white noise on the t.v screen
had told her she was going to die.
sylvia was not well in ways
that a child could not understand.
my schizophrenic uncle
lived in the spare room of her flat.
once i found 20 grand in a holdall
in the freezer. my schizophrenic uncle
worked cash in hand. trusted
white goods more than banks.
sylvia was not well in ways
my mum tried to explain.
the last time we visited sylvia
she said she lost the earrings
my dad had bought her for christmas.
my dad stormed out, having turned
many pages of the argos catalogue
to find those earrings. sylvia died
a few weeks later. sylvia was not well
in ways that i have not been well.
sometimes i want to go back.
hold sylvia’s hand until the lights
come back on in the flat. until the t.v
says it has 60 seconds before it goes
onto standby. let the screen go black.
Jacob Mckibbin is a poet from Oxford. Previous work has been published in Propel Magazine, Banshee, Oxford Poetry, The Rialto and elsewhere. More poems can be found at instagram.com/nofixedauthor.
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