Dad Went Out

When he heard his mother had died,
        Dad went out
for a walk across the common.
Alone. He never went out alone.

My brother and I sat stunned
by his private grief, afraid he would
not come back, unsure what
to say to him when he did.

We all imagined him walking alone.
I suspected fury and wailing:
a wild demand to nature,
a terrible curse for the Old Gods to hear.

He came back dry, hiding his tears
from us, the farewell to his mother done.
We sat together quietly on the settee.
Mum made tea and chocolate biscuits.