I am publishing this poem because, surprisingly, when I tried to share it with my writing group I cried my eyes out. Reason enough. I guess it needed to be written out of me.
on the winds that rustle the metallic droplets of brown.
The green retreats
recoiling itself into the dark, secure ground.
“Let’s learn from nature”,
we are encouraged:
Thoughts of you return at this time, too.
But they come back stronger,
more real than they ever were:
Your dark hair, cut in a bob,
short and edgy.
Your discarded cigarette ends,
hiding on a dish under a shrub,
so that mum wouldn’t find out.
in earthy tones
I remember the army surplus,
masses of khaki
endless rails of the stuff…
and your excitement, as infectious as your laugh.
You will know already but it’s mum’s birthday next week.
Perhaps you’ll reappear
in the dark. Rustling her bedding.
Taking up all the room in her head.
Just like you used to.
I wonder if I’ll see you,
the universe in motion.
I am reminded:
No More isn’t a place.
Nowhere is here. So you must be somewhere.
These thoughts, these ‘lessons’,
they return each year.
But rarely are they any easier to learn.
it requires continuous pruning
and holding on - tight -
to the faith
is ever really gone.