Things that do not matter, no longer matter.
Time drags me kicking, further from his last dawn,
From those sacred, private hours with the one man I was capable of loving forever.
Sorrow stabs the mundane.
Hoovering: why is this floor so filthy?
I clean it every Tuesday for him coming,
It’s been too many Tuesdays since he’s been here…
And then I remember.
I hoover on, blinded by my own snivelling, hearing his laugh at the top of the table.
Protect me from those who cause me harm,
Who create drama and suck me dry,
Leaving me manic and paranoid.
Protect me from those who eat my days,
Save me from narcissistic glory hunters,
Feeding off my life to fill the boredom of their days.
Protect me with your love.
The sun is old on water
Yearling flakes keep whirling by
Carry me awry
Collapsing breaths discover
Turning hope, new-boarded highs
Receding howls dew the skies
Closing eyes recover
Amber light in wintry bed
Can you pull me under the cold, charred sea?
Whispered words of summer
Fallen ode, a bawling bless,
Serenades the water and carries me anew.
In softest air, a stutter
steers the heart away from the bane,
leaves the lasting sorrow and carries me anew.
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language,
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
-T S Eliot
Miracle by Seamus Heaney
Not the one who takes up his bed and walks
But the ones who have known him all along
And carry him in -
Their shoulders numb, the ache and stoop deeplocked
In their backs, the stretcher handles
Slippery with sweat. And no let up
Until he’s strapped on tight, made tiltable
and raised to the tiled roof, then lowered for healing.
Be mindful of them as they stand and wait
For the burn of the paid out ropes to cool,
Their slight lightheadedness and incredulity
To pass, those who had known him all along.