Resurrection

Sometimes I have to die a little
In order to allow the gentle turning
Of the earth spin me around 'til
The darkness subsides and light
Dawns - Look, here it comes on the edge
Of the world - Wait, don't rush
It has a life of its own, and that's
How I missed it before, remember?

The weeping willow

The willow weeps openly for all to see.
The branches hide not shame, nor guilt,
Nor sadness, nor lack of love,
Nor difficultly, nor indifference...
They weep openly for all to see,
And if you care to look closely
The tears are falling, falling,
Falling, for you.

- The Nectarine -

At breakfast we slice a second nectarine
Because you are here.
The flesh is soft and you are
Surprised how red and textured
The sweet fruit is on your plate.
We eat crumpets, washed down with tea
And talk about the day ahead.
Work, email, supper and a show later...
Nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary
Except for the red flesh of the
Extra nectarine at breakfast.

- The Genius Bar -

4.20pm, a buzz of white noise -
Chatter, high-heels, music and the
Whir of the elevator - engulfs the
Space between us on two tall stools
Whilst a gangly man in a
Leather flat-cap (no irony)
Tries to fix my laptop.
You pick up Sharon Olds, defiantly,
And start reading.
A gesture I don't appreciate in
My hour of need. You see, the Genius is
Not a genius, and you are not here
For that.

- The Girl -

On Regent Street on Tuesday
We stop to wait.
For the lights to turn red.
To cross the road. And in front of
You there's a girl in a red and
Blue dress, an apparition of
Gypsy glamour and understated
Pretense. I see you looking at her...
Eyes grazing her skin, her auburn
Hair and at that moment she
Walks forward and becomes
Part of the bus. Red more than
Blue now, and her hair a mass of
Matted damp. And the screaming,
And I'm crying and as I turn to look at
Your face, you take my hand in
Yours and squeeze, and I'm ok, and
For a moment I'm glad it was her
And not me.

- Just in case -

There are better things to worry about
Than if I am destined to spend this life
Alone with my thoughts, or if someone
Else will help make me who I perhaps
One day shall be. (Always, yet never
Again myself?) Is this it?
Or shall I be moulded like a jelly for
A children's party...
Or, more like, a lump of hard clay that
Won't yield to a gentle touch and needs
Soaking for days in tepid water 'til it's
Slippery and malleable?
There are better things to worry about
But I watch out for the cracks,
And soak the edges once in a while,
Just in case.

- In Between -

In between the birth cry and death gasp,
There's that otherworldly time
When you are new and protected -
Caul from your tiny head tucked in a
Pocket for luck against drowning -
Yet grown up, part of you is dying, cells degenerate
Eyes lose sparkle and teeth grind down...
So busy you don't look up, least of all notice
That the edges are being rubbed off your self
'Til you're all smooth and sandpapery,
Dust of your dreams blown forth by the
East Wind. If you stopped to look
You might glimpse that otherwordly time
When you are dying, in between.

- The Knitting Needle -

I hate mornings.
Brain. Works. Graveyard.
Conks. Out. 7am. Pain.
Tea in bed.
The Today Programme.
Rejected, day after day after day after day.
May as well poke a number 4
Knitting needle through my head
And twist it.

Remember

Remember that time we ate fish and talked
about nothing in your mother's kitchen?
It was last century, so far away from now,
it's frightening. We were young back then,
Photographic evidence proves it, your eyes
Aren't tired and my face is soft. There's
An innocence, a bashful hopefulness in a
Future without death.
We would change the world.

Mrs Lyser [After Mrs Krikorian]

That first time, when I saw her
I was transfixed -
as six-year-olds are prone to be -
In the same way that on seeing
a doll that time in Beatties, unable to get out
a squeal, I kissed it, so Daddy could see.
She stood in assembly, to the left. Upright, her body
taut against the climbing frame wall, her silver
hair a soft halo. She was old -
I knew that, old, yet progressive...
sometimes she wore trousers,
trousers, in 1985!
Once, I bought some awful made-in-Korea ornament
with my holiday money, and presented it to her,
sticking out my chest and standing up straight,
the way I thought one was supposed to
on these occasions.
And she took my soft child's body into
her arms and hugged me. The embrace
of a mother, as yet unfelt since.
And I knew, that first time, I knew,
I was transfixed. Over the shepherd's pie
that night announcing:
'I can't take my eyes off her.'
'I just can't take my eyes off her.'

Cherries

As I stood next to the bin
eating cherries and spitting
the stones in, some missed
staining the floor with a
streak of crimson.

As I first met you that time
in the theatre bar and clasping
the cast list the ink
stained my fingers with a
stubborn blackness.

Untitled

When you don’t call or sms
I imagine all kinds of horrors…
You’ve fallen into a canal,
Into the section with no life buoy.
Pesky vandals! Don’t get me started!
Think they have a right to ruin our fun,
Law-abiders that we are. I mean…
Oh yes, when you don’t call or sms
I imagine your train has been
DE-RAILED, and your left leg
(it’s always the left)
Is lying cold, clammy and alone
On a grey track, far from your
Other one, and then…
I wonder what you’ll do for trousers
And if the alteration lady
Will take pity and do a bulk
Discount on sewing up all 17 pairs
Into one-legged pants… and
What she’ll do with the spare legs?
A mystery. Oh, when you don’t call or sms
I do my best thinking.
And then,
I don’t miss you
so much.

Mango tea, and darkness

We drank mango tea
In almost-darkness
Your face an illusion
Conjured away by lack
Of light.
Outside: chaos
Snowflakes, bodies rushing
In from icy-cold-ness.
We hide in your sanctuary
Smiling. Safe.
Few naked words
Float on air
And sink to be pondered.

We feel fine, or do we?
A cat and a monkey.
A love and yours truly.