In one month

 

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She had been on her hands and knees you see
Cleaning the last of memories
with sugar soap.
There were dust laden skirting boards
where furniture had sat for a year
Scuff marks on walls
where shoes had been laid after a long day
A ring
around the bathtub
where he had found her on occasion in the evening
A sticky residue on the windowsill
where a plant had once been.

On her knees she’d been
Behind toilet bowls
Inside empty drawers
Around handles where once needing fingertips had sought savoys

She was on her knees you see when you called
cleaning the last of memories
with sugar soap.

 

 

Up you get.

Now is not the time for crying.
Time to get out of bed.
(Get up. Get up).
Do not rise only to fall back on your knees.
(Get up. Get up).
As you pack last minute things
Be careful not to fold yourself in between
(Close the boxes).
(Tie the bags).
When you come across a moment
Do not let it stop you in your tracks
(Keep moving).
(Lift the boxes).
When you shut the door
Let the momentum carry you to your next.
(Do not stop).
(Do not cry).
(Almost there).
(Do not cry).

 

 

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She said,

‘You’ve turned yellow’.

Restless 2am, 3am, 4am’s

bring a souring.

Cuddles have curdled

the natural course of things, clotted.

 

 

Ghosts

There are ghosts in the house.

I count them:

Folded clothes, numerous.

Cereal boxes, 3.

Chocolate I’d never eat, ‘8 pieces’ times 4.

A plate unwashed, 1.

Piles of books, as many as you can indulge yourself to buy at a market.

A face washer, folded and drying, 1.

New soap, unused, 1.

a toothbrush no longer needing toothpaste, 1 (beside the 2nd one).

One side of the bed, unruffled, 1/2.

Your smell, …between hangers, in th ecarpet, your towel, infinity.

There are ghosts in the house.

I count them.

 

 

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