Mourning by G S

At 4am, I’m angry.

Well,

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

Every

strand.

.

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

Sitting,

Listening,

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

And

They show it.

And I’m embarrassed.

Because I don’t want to

Show

Or

Tell,

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