loss is so apparent
the dinner table loses a chair, a place mat removed
but the meals are still made for six
and the meat is someone's favourite dish
someone who isn't missing
but is not in their usual place,
the armchair facing the front door,
the wooden bench in the gardens,
the mug so tenderly held
the deep laugh that ended with a sigh
laughing together sounds different than it did before
familiar hands, held to reimagine what is almost gone
similar smiles, familiar eyebrows - and the way they furrow
finding jokes to paint over what is almost lost
the human mind is so cruel with remembering
gone in bits and then lots
before you are ready
before you notice it's leaving
and then you meet someone who reminds you
and go home - heart heavy with guilt
the punishing self, going back when you've gone so far ahead.
hard to remember to keep the hope brewing
keep the kitchen alive, the pot half-full
leave the bedroom and bid the night adieu
to not let it seep into the next morning, the newer day
pour yourself a cup - maybe two, maybe another
the pot will brew another ounce of hope - hopefully, another litre
and if you find it empty, fret not - delay, be not swayed.
you'll find a comrade writing a poem
despite his larger losses, his emptier pots
and both of you will find, that all you live for are words
when they come, before they leave
and piecing them together to make something worthwhile;
meanwhile,
the pot brewing before the cup empties.
Comments
Post a Comment