a nightbird calls outside my window
I am sick, so sick in the dark
it’s 4.24 on the morning of your funeral
life makes no sense, there is only love
you talk to everyone at the party
buy them gifts, exchange views
share laughs, drinks, stories
my only conversation is with you
grab my phone to check messages
that remain forever unread
missed your call, I miss you: indelible
a nightbird’s sick joke you’re dead
Photo: Sierra Narvaeth on Unsplash
would it be weird to say
we were all in love with each other
a little bit?
the best friendships
pan out that way
I don’t know sometimes
the difference
between a kiss and a good conversation
when I remember how
she held me close
and put her lips on mine
and the way she writes
as faithfully as the moon
I can get melancholy
on Sunday afternoons
holding memories
listening to Nick Drake
or Cave
ignoring the kids
cooking onions
with love pulsing through my life
beat, beat, beat
in time
and what about that day
you made aglio e olio?
we were all so careful
with each other
so quiet
our eyes, cautious
your bathroom’s cold green tiles
because we wouldn’t
acknowledge
who’d slept with who
the night before
A dear friend passed away this week. He made chopping onions and garlic a work of art. He was also someone who read and took time to comment on this blog occasionally; as a fellow writer, he understood how wonderful it is to get that kind of validation! This poem was inspired, in part, by our friendship, as well as referencing various other treasured friends. It reminds me that it’s always worth taking a moment to appreciate the love that beats through your life. RIP JAn, my world is poorer without you but richer for having known you. x
Someone ripped out all the trees
between my house and next door
and
although we never did gardening together
or talked horticulture
it must be for you
because
the uprooted mess
of destroyed earth and leaves
is like how my heart feels
it makes no sense
why
won’t we ever talk again?
or laugh about
unsolicited plant-vandalism
there was so much more
I wanted to say
I need your input
on this thing
and what about a new tattoo
of a dead tree with roots akimbo
just won’t be the same
it’s all broken
there’s a hole
in my ground
without you
Photo: Claire Doble
I’m hoarding hairdye
don’t trust the supply chain
waiting to be
renewed again
it’s on the to-do list
but never
gets
done
I think, think, think, think
I can think my way out
of this
I’m wrong
but who’s to say
if the error is me
or the other
one?
I use you like an addict
taste it
all the next day
and unfinished sentences
don’t make
you safe, no
not on this
run
Photo: Photo by Florian Klauer on Unsplash
clairevetica 