We were staying that weekend with your parents
at their corner shop to tell them you were
two months pregnant. You were already there
on Friday night when I came through the back door.
You were in the kitchen at the sink. A programme
about Captain Scott and his companions
entombed in ice and sliding seawards
was playing unwatched in the living room.
You told me the news about Aberfan.
That evening and in the many, many days
to follow there were bulletins and pictures,