Monday, April 18, 2011

It doesn’t feel like you’re gone.

I went to your house yesterday,
It wasn’t as warm as I remember
But that’s April for you,
The sun shines through the mid-day hours
Until late afternoon and its cold friend surround us.

I’m sitting in the kitchen
Hunched in the nook between the table and fridge,
My usual place,
Opposite the chair where you would be seated
If you were here.

Looking through my empty glass
I can taste the watered down orange
And smell the lightest hint of tea
In the hot water
That steams from your ceramic orange cup.

I pick up my glass and hold it
To the cool light reflected through the window,
Placing it to the side of the sink
I wonder if maybe you’ll come back into the room
If I clear the table.

For it was there we played dominoes
You taught me draughts
Pick up sticks was a favourite
And on occasions chess,
I think that maybe some of the time you would let me win.

With a turn of my head I hear the hinges creak
As the verandah door knocks back on its frame,
Those coloured ribbons that used to hang,
How pale it has been
Since they were taken down a few years ago.

In the garden, I want to watch you walk through that verandah door
So you can see how high I can swing,
I can almost see over the fence,
But the tree and its swing have gone,
And I’ve been told, and I know, that you’ve gone too.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

A Lesson.


Monday, April 11, 2011

sitting in a railway carriage

sitting in a railway carriage
going neither here nor there
coming backwards going forwards opposite your hair glows, 
etruscan, epicene.
i lean towards the mountains
beyond the speeding train,
through the image of you
reflected on the montage of the window pane;
i suppose it's all a matter of the images that collide
within a given space
that gives the glitter to your eyes, 
the sculpture to your face.

                  - Shelton Lea

Friday, April 8, 2011

The sweetest little song.

You go your way
I'll go your way too
- Leonard Cohen