Letting go

It’s late
and the phone rings.
And for a second, just a second, I remember

The taste of fear rising,
heart quickening,
Mind flooding
Then focused.

A familiar routine,
Anticipated whenever
It was late
and the phone rang.

And the relief I feel now,
Though tempered by the sting of guilt,
Is real enough to notice.

You are not in pain,
In fear
In need

Without definable faith,
I cannot say
That you are somewhere out there
A happy soul on a cloudy Philadelphia joy ride,
Though you would have liked that!

That you rest in a house where a place was set ready for you at the table,
That I cannot say.

But that you are free
I know
I know.

And when it’s late
And the phone rings
I will remember that.



Just out of reach on my desk are
A colour coded calendar of intentions
A Lufthansa flight schedule, passport and address book
A pair of gardening gloves
A diary and your photograph.

In my planning, did I forget you?
Was I just fitting you in between one distraction and another comforting, mind numbing escape?
With each shovel load of sugar pills was I burying you deeper and
Deeper down in the ground I now only tentatively place one foot on?
I scheduled you in.
I was going to complete the paperwork before running away….
Now I stop
No skip or jump,
I sit
I inch a fraction of the fathomless journey of enforced dependence you travelled
Knowing it is temporary vulnerability,
Yet I cannot be quiet

Tonight I watched Hamlet
I will not forget….