Mourning by G S

At 4am, I’m angry.


I’m sad,

But that’s part of it too.

How come they get to carry on?

Why you not one of them?


I wrapped myself in your coat today,

The smell of smoke clung to my hair.

For once, I didn’t mind;

I wanted to keep it,

Wrapped up in




I keep thinking of your hands:

Paper-soft , tanned skin.

The hours, the hardships

They’ve endured.

So delicate and decorated with a Welsh-gold ring.


Pauline’s heart is broken,

Ripped apart, then torn in two.

We all are truly,

Snapped in half,

But grandad’s a different shade of blue.

It’s deep,

And dark

And never-ending.

I guess that’s what soul mates do-

They’re with you in the very depths,

And fight, until there’s nothing left,

to get you through.


I remembered when we were younger,

And we’d hear you arguing downstairs



On the stairs,

Giggling as you’d fight.


It’s hard to believe last summer

Was your last summer.

You’d not be missing much this year.


A wicker casket’s what you wanted,

And wicker’s what you’ll get.

Ten at the graveside only,

Almost perfect for you,

I bet.


Were not children anymore,

So now they’re not afraid.

They say it


They show it.

And I’m embarrassed.

Because I don’t want to




That private part of of me.

Of how I feel,

In loosing you

And how

I’m left with it.

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Full time teacher, sometime writer from Bristol. Poetry is what G S tries on when the world is confusing.

Twitter: @Gabriella_Stell