a little grief in the dark

sometimes he is not dead
he has just passed into another room
of the big house we all wander about in
he is waiting now
for the interlude
or is it just that he waits for the moment before i wake
where he can be beside me
as i sleep
watching and loving me silently in the dark
and it gets hard
sometimes i am lost
i cannot find the light switches and i trip on issues and judgments
i search the house
wrought with grief
slamming cupboards and breaking glasses
the darkness lets the fear tight in my chest grow like weeds
the sickening feeling of alone claws at my sides and i curl smaller and smaller
seeking comfort in the foetal position
his eyes smile back through the photographs
still images of what was
and i realise
i am looking for something that has never left my side
and i am grateful

burnt toast

what a joyous occasion
this Sunday morning
half asleep in your cereal
you are beautiful
i am in love with your tired eyes
and dark expression
this why i burn the toast
all the time

little brocken pieces

the first time i loved him
i broke his favourite cup
it splintered across the floor
the pieces spelt his name on the dirty linoleum
he is passing through
as i am passing through
this multicoloured kaleidoscope of emotional turmoil
only to come alive in bouts of undesired passion
there is no peace in his heart
and the closer i get
the more i cut myself on his broken pieces

kettles in the sky

my grandmother, my sister and i will lie on the grass
in our grandmothers front garden
we will create creatures in the clouds above
the sun warm on our faces
my grandmothers wispy white hair playing across her weathered face
there is a rabbit
turned to a spaceman
that is now a kettle

there is soup on the stove
biscuits in the jar by the bread box
an out of tune piano
and chalk over our fingers
i am home

the curtains

the shadow of a horses ghost flies surreptitiously past my window
yet i know i must sleep with the curtains open
it is simple
i am afraid of the dark
and i long for the morning
i want to know when it comes
i want to know it is there
so even in my sleeping
in the time my soul has to be independent of my body
in the time i surrender to natures kind nurse
i must know all the fears
plaguing me
dancing like demons across this night
have faded in the morning light that graces the cracked window sill
i will sleep with the curtains open