Wednesday 22 June 2022

Reaching for the phone

 





I think of you at half past four,

that was the window for the call.

You’re an ancient pitted mosaic floor

you’re a bird hooting at nightfall -

at every turn, big and small

you are the groundswell of light

and a memory bridge of recall.

Nothing else to say or to write.

 

I reach for the phone like old times

the heart leaps at the strangest things -

seashell crumble on a beach,

washed up driftwood and tree rings,

the politics of violent crime.

Then I recall you’re out of reach.










12 comments:

  1. Hari OM
    ...so near, and yet so far... YAM xx

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  2. It took years before I stopped feeling they weren't gone.

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  3. Oh yes. And years later there are still things I want to share, questions I long to ask...

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    Replies
    1. Oh, totally. Never knew I had so many questions bottled up!

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  4. Hi Nila - wonderful way of expressing our missing - I'd love to know more and share ... cheers Hilary

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    1. We're all in the same boat...you have yourself a good week.

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  5. Splendid yearning poem. Yep- reach for the phone…

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  6. You really speak to the heart of anyone missing a loved one. They're always alive in our hearts. Thank you.

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    1. They are indeed. Thanks for everything, Denise.

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