“It is eighteen years ago, almost
to the day...I watched you play
your first game of football, then,
like a satellite wrenched from orbit,
go drifting away.” C. Day Lewis
Closer to what he will become,
I watch him walk around the pond;
his presence there, acknowledged
by the redwing...a sanguine sun
reflected in his eyes...
closer to when he will not sing
‘our songs’ to me – the ones I’d sung
as lullabies, and when that question,
‘How could I ever live without you?’
will be the last thing on his mind...
like that day we queued for ages
in the rain, for a trip on a ‘rocket-ship’
and when we’d got home, I’d hugged
him dry and he’d said he loved me
to the moon and back.
Closer to when I’ll ask, ‘Drop me a line...
when you have time.’ Right now though,
can’t think beyond him, breezing in – saying
he’s starving, and me, almost saying,