A Tightrope of Absence & Love
I remember the mop of blond light
he wore like a crown
& the way my daughters
pointed to scratches on my face
& bites on my hands
& how we rose early to escape that
one-room flat near Kew Gardens
with its smell of mothballs
& expired lavender & something
sanguineous
sticking to the walls & ceiling
to get outside in the sun
kick a football around the green
take the Tube into town
fill those long days
where the absent father
meets both shadows & love.
I tried to bear the weight of
troubles & puzzled over
what might be going on
his darkness pressed hard
against his light which shone
like sun & moon combined.
The two of us walked for miles
nuzzling in the umbra
of the local cinema or occasionally
in Leicester Square, filling our time
with museums & restaurants
always remembering I never
knew my father & this was my son.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
