Friday, 30 January 2009
Shape and illusion
Bit of this
Legs in black lacy stockings, pointing skywards, in the peddle position decorating M&S window.
Outline against blue sky. A workman knelt on the top of shed roof, hammering nails in.
The shape of grief. Today it is the same spiral, every atom of my being impaled, journeying down toward a thin spiky tip I cannot see. I am confused , I hear his voice so clearly.
From somewhere you can smell spring, you are reminding me. As you lay dying of your favorite tape Secret Garden.
Bit of that
Tired so tired. You only stayed alive to go to the school fete, some avoided us but most were so kind.
You felt it."All their love was like a shield mum". You whispered in bed as I talked about the day. When you finally slipped into sleep it was forever.
And then I slowly recreated myself.
And in the instant of finishing that last sentence I know why your tenacious spirit echoed within me.