aislingfwrites

30 Poems in 30 Days – Poem #2

In Uncategorized on April 2, 2013 at 10:23 pm

Poem #2

Steam curdles against blue kitchen tiles,
the kettle comes to boil as constant as morning.
Phone calls in the middle of the night still make my back muscles tense,
like cats hearing a fox at the locked garden gate.

Stansted at 6 am is clinical – too white for eyes readying themselves for a funeral,
awash with cleaners that work on the brim of dawn and sleep in the lap of day –
an unknown host of city dwellers whose body clocks run to different times than the city slickers they pander to.

Our family huddles at a table in the overhead Starbucks that has just opened,
stirring sugar into overpriced coffee,
gulping it whilst it’s too hot so it will burn our throat –
we need an excuse for not talking:
who can form words when tongue becomes rotted tree-stump?

I was always a five year old granddaughter with too much energy
when I spoke to my Nan on the phone.
Her voice had the trick of making the world shrink,
it would vacuum pack me into a bubble of security
but the fact is –
I was not in the same country as her when she died.

Announcement for flight FR254 to Dublin –
we clutch our hand luggage,
packed in the time it takes to book an online flight with Ryanair
whilst simultaneously chewing over the words “she’s dead”.

Above ground, the land expands at such a rate
I find it impossible to believe I will ever be able to reach where I’m needed
before it’s too late.

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