sitting on the living room floor
in the same position we'd have sat
if the sofa had been there
we took up our usual places
you up one end
me the other
the room is totally empty
except for us
and two mugs of tea
your last remnants
removed by two men
with cockney accents
tattoos
face masks
and a white box van
we spent months
clearing your possessions
every box
every drawer
every cupboard
we've cried together
we've cried alone
we've thought of you
and smiled
these last fragments gone
carried out the back door
by strangers
separate us further from you
and now there's no comfort
this isn't home anymore
emptiness drains me
further
further still
we didn't take the kitchen clock
the one that ticked so loudly
when pain shut out words
couldn't bring ourselves to move it
to touch it even
so there it will stay
alone
ticking
“Occasionally you come across an artist that not only writes a fantastic narrative, but also seemingly makes everything they touch sound like their own”
Poems Words More...
The Wrong Setting
this afternoon
you cut my hair
i sit on a kitchen chair
in the living room
watching tv
you work and ask
are these the right clippers
i watch the screen
yes i’m sure
why
there’s a lot coming off
you’ve been my hairdresser
for most of this year
it was strange at first
tentative
careful
necessary
but we're used to it now
complacent even
i can almost see your scalp
you say
mildly concerned
it's the wrong setting
i’m not keen
you seem alarmed
it’s ok keep going
can’t stop now
it’ll be fine
i like it short
you know i do
unruffled
we agree
it won’t need doing again
any time soon
Hidden
i like my mask
i feel safe
emotions
not so easily read
some
without masks
smile at me
i smile back
laundry
six weeks since you left
and closed your front door
for the last time
leaving home comforts
and me behind
been hard to see you lately
haven’t even waved at you
through a pane of glass
the pain scars me
carers helped with facetime
panned your room so i've seen it
but i haven’t 'seen' it
facetime whose face
you had no idea who i was
you couldn’t hear me.
you couldn’t seem to see me
i called you mum but mum
who did you think i was
twice a week
i collect and return your laundry
washed ironed
folded with love
my lasting connection with you
what are you wearing today
what did you wear yesterday
what will you wear tomorrow
i don't help you choose anymore
maybe next week they say
hope is taking its toll
are you happy
do you think about me
i’m not happy
i’m not happy at all
tears don’t change a thing
but they come
nonetheless
