By: Debbie Tunstall

A tissue, a tissue
gifted mother to her son.

In the end, it was also me.
Then my little sister.

” Just as long as you wipe them, “
insisting that no one sees.

We were taught to swallow tears
even slithers of a giggle
stuffed between the arm chair.

Now, all grown up
whenever anyone asks how we feel,
we tilt.

We all fall down.

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Debbie Tunstall is a writer from St Helens, Merseyside. She enjoys reading and writing and is featured in the anthologies, Fireflies, Hope and Embers.