Martha

Martha looked after me
when my parents were away.
Told me stories of the sea,
of mermen and monsters, they
swam with me under-covers before prayers,
along with other secrets I hushed up the stairs.

I remember her softly bathing my toes,
chalking me in Calamine
when the sun burnt my nose.
If she clapped quick it was a sign:
Parents were back and I was to bed!
I'd clamp my eyes shut and act like dead.

Why Martha left me? They didn't explain...
I talked to her always. See, I'm with her, again.