And so, the angel of death
that snatched my beloved
cruelly passed over his possessions.
They are left
flung from his fingers
in all the places he placed them.
And they taunt me with their normality.
Recalling moments of a life now not lived
and yet achingly near.
The very presence of these objects marks an absence.
Their uselessness draws itself together around the shape
of a body no longer here.
And to catch sight of them is to believe he will
simply stroll back in,
pick them up,
and we will carry on with life as it was,
as if this time of death was not an end
but a pause.
How dare you I shout at that fleeting shadow.
How dare you mock my pain.
If you must have him,
come back and take these dispossessed belongings.
So...you have put something up - well done. Hard, very hard, to read...but glad you decided to put some words together...
ReplyDeleteI emailed my comments by mistake(!) but you have captured something profound that I didn't recognise I was feeling until I read it.
ReplyDelete