Feb 132013



I Return Edward Thomas To The Library

and I watch him slide, slow and grinding,
into the slot. A whirr and a clunk
and a beep and he’s gone. I feel sad, no,
more and less than sad: remote.
I want to grab him back,
keep him with me, keep him close.
Two images, then: a Somerset campfire,
Joe Strummer doing Redemption Song for us;
Courtney Love, screaming  with a different pain
as his coffin headed for the flames.

Every loss is different. Every loss reminds us

and I remember the sun-filled afternoon
before all this, before you and me,
when I sat on his Hampshire hill
and felt a taste of you,
felt the timelessness
and the joy of elm and church bells
and Autumn sun.
I thanked him then for bringing me alive
and I thank him here, now,
for bringing me to you.

Every loss is different. Every loss reminds us

and I turn, walk away, swipe my card.
It pings but the barrier refuses to open:
I freeze and tears,
those ruinous tears,
lurk again but he’s taught me,
as you’ve taught me,
and I’ve learned
how the wind would sound
and so I breathe, begin again, take each of you with me,
out into the Summer light.

Every single loss








 Posted by at 10:04 pm

  2 Responses to “Returning Edward Thomas To The Library”

  1. Really really good.

 Leave a Reply



You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>


Get every new post on this blog delivered to your Inbox.

Join other followers: