The lives we lead after they leave
It’s impossible to imagine a world without them
A humdrum day lost to traffic and emails, passing strangers
and sh ap el es s
[empty]
conversations
A day that features a pay rise
A promotion
A proposal
They’re here
They’re always here
And then suddenly,
They’re not
here
But the traffic and emails and passing strangers and
sh a pele ss
[empty]
meaningless why-am-I-still-having-this-conversation
Are still here
The pay rises
And promotions
And proposals too
Their permanence as
I hang in disbelief
In a make-believe world scaffolded by questions
Yet someone is reporting the gold price
And a stranger told the world how many calories they ate today
Everyone is calling and knocking and messaging
Sending loveflowersfoodcardsregardsthoughtsprayers
It is
They are
You were
Yesterday, you were are
Yet today, you are were
Spoke
Danced
Walked
Sang
Laughed
Lived
I am
Tangled in a language of you are and you were
Now, Dead
In the present and the future
I now must speak of you in terms of the past
Tomorrow calls out to me
But I am
stuck
here
With these new words
Their odd shapes
Loud sounds
I am tired
So tired
From the elocution/electrocution
And now there is also a pain
An awkward to hold
Too heavy to carry
A too hot
Too cold
Crushing
And cursing pain
And it not only sticks to me
But it is me
Like arms and legs
And the teeth in my mouth
This pain
Congratulations, it’s mine!
The everything I never wanted
Belongs to me
“And now? Now what?”
I scream to the sky
An empty room
A folding ocean
A pillow saturated with the grief of you
“Keep going,” a voice screams back
“What, like this?”
“Yes,” it says
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
So I limp past the strangers
And stare at the number in my inbox
I listen as the words from the conversations
I couldn’t care to have
Slide out of mind
I walk with my head down
Staring at my shoes
Watching my tears land on concrete
On sand
On white cotton
A new day arrives
And another
And another
God theykeeparriving
Each feels like a bill
Stamped red, overdue!
I stack them up
Blind to their urgency
Knowing another will arrive tomorrow
Creaking and cracking
Egg yolk over toast and the dawn
And then another the day after that one
A stack of days
Now lives in a corner
On a counter
In my kitchen
It’s misty, near fog-like
When another arrives
A march of black coats
Fills the streets
Poky umbrellas are dotted between
Big red busses with their
Bright white beams
Each a travelling lighthouse
I am looking ahead
At nothing in particular
When a poky umbrella collides with a
Marching coat
I collapse with a yell
For I realise I am Marching Coat
Like a stack of poorly constructed shelves
Laden with heaving, heavy memories
All vulnerable edges and sandpaper
A failed DIY project
Poky umbrella scuttles away
Before she gets a splinter
I realise that I am tired
So tired of collapsing
I need to get out of the rain
Because it is raining on my head
And my shoulders
Arms
Elbows
Knees
And toes
I run towards a door
That spells ‘Open’ on its glass front
I walk towards a table by the window
I, carefully, sit down in one of the two empty chairs
“Do I have to keep going?” I whisper
“Yes”
“OK, I will. But I need to rebuild,” I reply
“It’s time,” says the empty chair
Nearly 3285 days have passed
Since you were last
here
A world I never imagined
Has happened
Some of it I’m glad you missed
Most of it I wish you had been
here
I have built you into my foundation
Spaghetti bolognese
And jelly
Swimming pool afternoons
And TV game days
Your laugh
And the tears I cried for you
Smoothed the jagged edges
And cleared the debris of shattered pieces and
Scattered shards
Beautiful blooms
Bursting with the colours of
Who you were
Who you are and
Who you will always be
Now live
On the counter
In the kitchen
And you are
here.
In memory of my brother Mirko Moretti [28–08–1988 till 23–04–2015] and step-dad Lance Aitchison [22–04–1955 till 3–08–2021]
