The landscape of grief

These days

these weeks

these years

create no boundary between us.

No forgotten word

leads to the dispossession

of the common land

we shared with each other.

I still hold the cloth you wore

keep the cup you drained

clean the shoes that told

of all the special occasions

that passed our way.

 

You are not still, silent,

or forgotten;

the land between us flowers

with the spring

a reminder

of the life that was hidden

during our summer

our autumn

and our winter.

 

 

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Today is not like every day before

I’ve struggled much more today

So much more than I expected

Called by your flat for our Sunday chat

To ensure you were not neglected.

 

Instead you lay still, stock still

In a strange and foreign bed

A silken sheeted haven

a cot made for the dead

 

You should be stirring up a storm

your words, a robust dissent

that turns convention on its head;

as death tries to make you relent.

 

Will you hear me midst the silence

that now subdues the sound?

calling life to question

will you live beyond the ground?