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Portrait
Walking delicately stick firmly held,
gently tapping announcing presence,
almost unnoticed hard to accept.
Long way from the bike and the running shoes,
not yet diminished even smiling occasionally.
Remembering marathons and endlessly cycling
at home and abroad. Long way from the glory days.
Hopefully acceptance may come.
(For Maree)
Frank Marshall
Fuchsia
For Joe
As I cut back the elegant stems
Of the fuchsia, my wife recalls
How you arrived with it
One sunny day, how it looked
As lonely as an empty suitcase.
That first winter I thought it
Dead to the world: leafless, dry.
Then summer’s resurrection: spurts
Of green, masses of red bells
Dripping to the grass.
As I cut back the elegant stems
Of the fuchsia, my wife recalls
How you would never arrive
With one arm as long as the other.
How you would cradle a new book
Like a holy thing, smelling the sharp tang
Of fresh print, flicking pages of promise,
How it was never possible for us
To ever leave your home empty-handed,
How you would give it all away.
Michael Massey. (R.I.P)
*with thanks to Jane Massey for permission to use poem.
Void
I could see how someone
might not want to go outside.
Might want to stay a little longer in bed.
Might skip breakfast,
then have a long lunch
while reading yesterday’s paper
full of news of an abstract world.
How a person might sit in a chair
for hours on end,
just gazing out into their yard,
not really watching anything,
not really thinking of anything in particular,
not really feeling anything.
Leaving the dishes for another day.
Not answering the phone,
not checking the mail,
not making the bed.
Sitting down to an open book,
reading just one page,
then having their mind wander off,
not far,
but just away from the page.
Looking around their home,
scanning all their possessions
with empty eyes as if the sculptures, pictures, books,
hats, chairs, and clocks all belonged to someone else.
How their coffee has gone cold,
their words slipped into canyons of isolation,
and they don’t even ask why anymore.
Yes, I could see how that could happen to someone.
Bob McLoughlin
