WAITING











 




There must very few who do not wish for one more chance to speak to those they have loved and lost. I wrote this poem shortly after my Dad’s death when I was desperate to feel him near, to believe he had not really left me. A year on I fear he is really gone. He often said he would let me know he was ok but we didn’t work out how! Maybe he has tried and I just haven’t noticed.

    

WAITING


I have asked for a sign;  
too late to arrange one
with you in person.
Had I known your heart
would stop so suddenly
I would have spoken sooner,
thought of some plan,
some way for you to
let me know that you are ok,
wherever you are.

Instead I am wandering,
lost and afraid like
the child you made feel safe.
Still prone to stinging tears,
welling and spilling down my face.
Unexpected grief,
when the bank cut up your cards
or I cancelled your milk;
on the train back from Wales,
as commuters tried not to notice.

I see signs everywhere.
The rainbow that followed
the car round the lanes,
the kind Registrar who wore
a claddagh ring and liked geneology,
the pork pie in the pub while
I waited to choose your coffin.
We had not shared our usual treat,
you had stopped eating.

Fleeting relief you are with me
before doubt clouds faith.
Were you there on the wind,
in the rustling swirl of burnished leaves?
Did I hear your voice
in the song of the stream, bubbling
over slate on its way to the Dovey?
Did I feel your touch
as I stared into the light
melting the sea into waves of gold?



© 2017 Jacqueline Claire Knight.  All rights reserved. 
 

Comments

  1. A clever poem that uses the everyday items, those we take for granted, to carry the strangeness of grief. Who could fail to connect with this.

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