the door

Buses flaming past in
The October sun.
I do remember London with
My Ma by my side.
 
“Isn’t it warm?”,
She said
“Almost like spring.”
I shivered .
 
Daddy squeezed Sian,
Smiled with real warmth,
At his complete family.
There is none of the journey
 
In my narrative; no montage
Of A to B. Just a black car,
Taking us to a grey house
Three stories high.
 
I asked the question before
We entered. I heard
“This is home now.”
As a door closed.