Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Dedicated to N.

I knocked the door, a stranger
 and asked if your Mother was in
– ' she’s gone ' you said
and I saw the loss in your face

You opened the door and
let me enter your sadness
You inhabited the shell of her
And let the husks fall away

A job a relationship and Gwen
Gone and we fanned
the warm embers of her being
You embraced what we had missed

I sat and listened to her through you
Her strength, her struggle, so strong was she
And reached the bottom
And reached for the door, too late

The lane and the lawns
The sharp-faced fences
The neat disorder of our lives,
Familiar and emptying
at the closing of the gate

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