You Are No More...
Wed, 07 Jan 2015
You are no more in the Christmas roses –
not in those Helleborus as you chose to call them...
not in their weeping, wilted heads, no more
than you are in the sketch you would have
drawn of them.
Not in the lake – nor in its silence of blue light
nor the frown-brown corduroy hills
that, before you were ill, we two
would have climbed.
whom I scrubbed down in our kitchen sink... so grubby,
and yet so tiny you hadn’t yet learned how to crawl;
then teaching you to swim. Noticing how blue
your lips got when you were cold.
No more shall I listen to you play piano;
All Creatures Great and Small – hearing
you stumble – same part of the score
You, who are no more, no less, than a memory now;
not one that fades – one grows stronger every day,
of the one I hugged dry with a towel...cupped their face
in my hands sitting on the sand by a rock-pool...
head, shouldered and shy...
the rush of the tide coming in...
a guillemot and her day old chicks;
the shriek of a mother’s final,