In search of the Halcyon
Yesterday was your birthday. I listened to our favourite songs, especially the ones we used to sing together. I had always made an honest attempt to hum along. But you had been the one to carry the tune with the strength of your heart. There were no gentle melodies for us – the times were such. The wind would surf the waves of notes from your vocal cords conjuring up a storm on the open ocean, wanton, free, uncontainable.
scratched vinyl record –
the song skips a line
at forever
Dolour
She is sobbing.
Should I put my arm around her as unobtrusively as possible? Shouldn’t she be allowed the time with her grief ? If not, the sorrow might dam up against the walls of her heart or eat up her bones. The anguish might even form dense, dark, cloud-masses that rain hard, black-laterite which will then lodge in her alveoli. She will then, start thinking of the things that she hadn’t done right, or of the times that she hadn’t been there, after which she will create a concoction of guilt drawn from the shadows.
last journey –
each one’s version
of a fire-licked sky
