I sometimes grieve

Dolls on offer

 

I sometimes grieve

for my place sewn into history

sensing the loss

the uselessness of my contribution

so far

how my past is a honeycomb of spaces

and yawning faces

the time left behind fallow

as in a forgotten field

bordered by vigorous weeds

their colours livid and clinging to

footpaths and bridleways whose intimations go unheeded

and now, NOW

the road is lost

though I know you share it with me

because the ache inside

can’t all be mine

Old photograph

Old photograph. pic-001

 

curling as it dries

on the mantelpiece

a resurrection  of our bonds

with tear drops frozen in amber light

as the day closes around everything

I cannot lose

That photograph, a tied knot, endures

as we age and I reminisce

being lured into our shared past

by casual nostalgia

and a fondness for the look in their eyes

 

All this today we share,

built around the ambition to survive,

so now we erect monuments on shelves in our home

in praise of relics,

those souvenirs of love and loss

that betray us as creatures of faith

How bittersweet it is to acknowledge

that all of it is slipping away

unashamedly facing us but somehow,

if I view it right,

complicit in a kind way

that will allow me eventually

to simply surrender and fade away