A poem about my Auntie J, who sadly passed away
I can see her dark black duffle coat, tired and worn down like the one who wears it,
I can hear appalling attempt at a Scottish accent,
I can feel her even darker curly locks twist in between the fingers of my younger self,
I can sense her heart beating close-by, but maybe I mishear.
I can see her harmless crocodile’s smile beaming up at me,
I can hear singing voice sawing, sawing beyond that cage she dwelled in,
(Surely this wasn’t the only way to break her chains, breaking her benevolent bonds?)
I can feel her warm embrace, the plush hug of such soothing arms,
I can sense her whispering something to me, but maybe I mishear.
I know this can’t be real,
She’s just the distant birdsong of a long forgotten dove or lark,
Beautiful dust in the wind,
The glint of an angel in a rainbow- tinted puddle.
The reverberating, piercing echo in a dream,
Just a bittersweet mirage.
This is the agony of remembering, of having to remember.
A burden which you don’t just bear but cling on to,
The perfect phantom pain of my memories,
Phantom pain of the heart