Pass it on
When Poppa yelled and cussed and Momma cried
When Lizzy held us close and stilled the sobs
When broken glass seemed shattering our world
The three of us crouched down among the dogs.
A chubby hand, a gentle whine, a sniff
In darkness sheltered and in silence safe
And Lizzie’s hair stuck wetly to her cheek
My pounding heart, a tail stiff and straight.
Now day by day I read my sister’s eyes
I saw the need within her flame and grow
I knew that someday Liz would kiss and leave us
Because we could not come where she would go.
I lay in bed at night and clutched her nightdress
I fastened it to mine with safety pins
I prayed, I lied, I hid her bags and toothbrush
But knew that she would leave despite my sins.
The day I found her gone I cried my heart out
I sat and rocked for hours on the bed
She’d left a letter pinned onto her nightdress;
I still remember every word it said:
“My darling Tess, I won’t be coming home now
I’ll miss you every moment every day
It’s time that I should go off on my own now
Look after Kimmy, make sure she’s okay.
“I do not love you less because I leave you
I walk the path that I was meant to go
And one day you’ll be sixteen, too, my Tessy
I promise you, when that day comes you’ll know.”
The days and nights rolled by; the fights grew louder
I took my sister Kimmy to my heart
The days would see us clinging to each other
The nights would find us crouching in the dark.
The years rolled by and Momma broke her finger
She bruised herself from falling down the stairs
She cut her lip deep walking into scaffolds
And nightly Kim and I whispered our prayers.
At last it came – the night before my birthday
At last it came – the fight before I fled
I saw poor Momma’s ‘accidental’ stumble
I saw the push and heard her crack her head.
The day I turned sixteen I wrote a letter
I packed a bag and turned away from home
I thought of Kimmy finding my place empty;
Of Kimmy standing, reading all alone:
“My darling Kim, I won’t be coming home now
I’ll miss you every moment every day
Look after yourself, Kimmy, you’re alone now
Make sure that you are safe, that you’re okay.
“I do not love you less because I leave you
I walk the path that I was meant to go
And one day you’ll be sixteen, too, my Kimmy
I promise you, when that day comes, you’ll know.”
No label
Come all, and listen to this little fable
Of the girl not fitted with a label
Her sister they had soon identified
“The arty one!” they all proclaimed with pride.
Yet somehow no-brand Mabel felt the stamp
That labelled someone else unrivalled champ
And seemed to say in this she should come second
Although her skills had not as yet been reckoned.
That seemed to say art had but one expression
And could be held by some as a possession
Denied to others as beyond their reach
As, “those who can, do; those who cannot, teach.”
As though the words were links to forge a chain
The foolish and the willful to restrain
From reaching high and courting cruel defeat
From being forced upon abject retreat.
But Mabel had no turn for still submission
To judgements passed in ignorant sortrition
And striving ’gainst the prophecy of home
Produced in contradiction this poor poem.
I. Miss. You.
I miss your young slim height and your energetic walk. Miss your sunny smile and quirky humour.
I miss your kindliness and weird enthusiasms. Miss your pithy conversations and spot-on observations.
I miss your warmth, your support, your admiration. Your respect. Your love.
I (never thought I’d) miss (anyone as I do) you. I never thought I’d miss you as you were sitting here beside me. But I do.
Poet and Lover
He walked among others, but not with them. Through the interminable corridors and vaulted walkways of the airport at Dubai. It was much larger than he had imagined it would be.
He wore a brown jacket of outdated cut, paired with neat blue jeans. He hunched his shoulders, his expression reserved. Approaching a food counter, he bought a sandwich and a bottle of water. Two hours delayed. He would need sustenance. He shifted the weight of his backpack and tucked his violin case under his arm. He looked down at it as he moved off. There lay the justification of his existence. The object which separated him out from other men and made him a poet, a lover, even a god. Or perhaps just a man worthy of living. He fingered it gently. Then he stepped onto the travelator towards his departure gate.
* * *
Confidence. That was what defined Julie’s step and look – confidence and a taste of Spring. Tall and buoyant in a thin white floral dress, whose panels separated at the knees and swirled carelessly round her legs.
She looked about her as she entered the departure lounge. In a corner sat a young man conservatively dressed. Smooth skin, sandy blonde hair, eyes down. Shy. She moved towards him, her dress fluttering, and took possession of the seat beside his.
She settled herself with a little wriggle and took lipstick from a bluebell-covered canvas bag. She applied it thickly, then sent a message from her phone. At last, Julie turned towards him.
“Hi, name’s Julie.” She put out her hand. “I just flew in from Vancouver. It’s like sooooo cold there.”
He shook it hesitatingly. “Romeo.” He dropped his eyes on her tanned ankles.
“Really? Isn’t that funny? You could almost say I’m Juliet.”
She glanced over his luggage. “Where’d you just come from?”
“South Africa. Visiting family.”
“Sounds great. Hey, is that a violin? Do you play?”
His eyes kindled. He took the case into his arms. “It’s a Stradivarius. Very old.” It’s my life. He didn’t say the last words.
“WOW! Cool.” She turned away her head and wet her lips.
“Nothing sings like a Stradivarius, you know.” He seemed to have lost his shyness.
She nodded slowly, still looking away. If only.
“I can’t show you,” Romeo apologised. “Moisture in the air. Affects sound quality.”
“Of course.” She glanced through domed windows at clouds of dust which were delaying take-offs.
The crowds around them began drifting towards the gate. Julie tossed her head.
“Oh, my bag is full of trash, and nowhere to throw it away before we board!”
She smiled, crossing her legs.
“Would you? I could watch our bags.”
He hurried off in a moment, loaded with empty crisp bags and wrappers.
She turned as he left the lounge and bent over the violin case. She flicked open the catches and gently lifted the lid. Julie gasped.
It was … she looked round, bewildered … it was empty.
I come
I come swiftly, leaping in the wind. I come mightily, whirling in the sun. I come gently, rising with the mist.
I bring flood and destruction. I bring deep drowning. I bring silence.
I come universally - and personally. I am everywhere, and I am here with you. I penetrate all things.
I come to look into your eyes, to search your soul. To say, what? you have not yet understood? To shake the head at you.
At last. At last I have flooded them all with light, have swept them all away with tears, have drowned them all with love. At last they will understand.
I have destroyed their leprosy, I have healed them, I have brought them peace.
They will know their own value, their own dignity, their own preciousness. They will never be able to violate it again.
When I tell each of them the bitter-sweet story of the others, they will never hate or hurt or wound again. Because to know is to love, and to love is to nurture.
They will be bound together and unified, they will bear their burdens together. They will go forward together.
See, I come.