The Gloaming

The gloaming comes down
as I sit alone, in peace,
in content - we shared
time today, me and him
from all those miles away
through a screen - I
watched him fix the bed
as I quilted.  A good
substitute for skin.

There was snowfall earlier
and high winds, but it
came to nothing, past
two degrees not cold enough.

I am tough I am strong
despite my thin skin my
bare heart:  so much
has parted me from me
and even now when I
try to stand I need to
knit together my own

ankle bone:  each and every
time and ignore the stabbing
of mortality.  Up the road
and round the bend the house
still sits in strangers' hands.
But what I will do when
next I reach the shop
is buy champagne and
remember that many
beautiful things - not least
my beautiful husband's heart -
cancel out all pain.

The task is:  each day be
glad to be given another tranche
of hours in which to live -
Spring is coming and my
rank garden with its tares
waits for me to tend it
with a full heart, earthy
hands, and no regret.

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