I’m waiting for you to leave me
but you don’t

I’m waiting
for perspective
to re-appear,
for
diminishing return,
for warmth from distant appreciation

but you don’t leave

I’m inhabited
the meal doesn’t end
the wine re-fills itself

surely time will take you from me
a little further off
so I can wave
the small wave, of
distant friend

rather this
than retain the air
where you might breathe
imagining that you hold me

as you do

MCHallis c.2002

Once upon a time and in place that is near to where we are today. A few simple words decided to see what they could be together. They wanted to know if they could achieve more collectively than they could as individuals? As words went, some were better known than others as some occurred more frequently in common usage. Each one enjoyed being spoken out loud. Being announced gave them life and they experienced delight when uttered in song. Being whispered softly in a moment of intimacy or friendship was equally considered quite a treat. Each word possessed unique characteristics. Some were made up of more letters, others had more syllables. However the words did not judge their differences, in fact they celebrated them. They knew that their differences came in many ways, some being older, some longer and some more experienced. The words also possessed latent talents. They were able to change their shape and appear as different expressions of themselves. They called this, playing a role, or being characters. After much discussion the simple words agreed that if they were to serve their greatest purpose they should work together in a way that would be of benefit to all who uttered or heard them. Ultimately it was decided that of all expressions, they should come together to form a question. It was unanimously agreed that this was their best option. A question they considered, could, when expressed in the right circumstances and in the right way, provoke deep thought and wise conversation. The words agreed that the best question would take the following shape: What are the clearest words we can summon, to ask the best questions, to be the best and give the best that we can be, right now? From this they noticed, to their great delight, other words often came along in response, partly in admiration but mostly to contribute to creating insightful responses. To this day the work of these words continues and people who use them are often very satisfied and very pleased with what emerges.

On the 4th of September 1995
I returned to an empty house,
a wall of anger ran through me and around me.

It took a week for the wall to crumble,
standing at the cash register at work
the sobs rose up from a pit way down low.

For several hours I sobbed and howled
in the office out back of the store.
Evelyn the store manager came and went
and when she could – just sat and listened.

3 days later my mother and father arrived
for 2 weeks they stayed
their child, the grown man needed care

mother cleaned all the shelves and cupboards
cleaned all the clothes and ironed shirts
father tried to find me answers
but in the end – just sat and listened.

After they went home, the house slowly lost their comfort,
shelves and cupboards returned to slight disorder
one by one ironed shirts were worn, never again to feel the same.

Hanging in its place I left one shirt untouched,
now and again I would open the wardrobe
to feel my mother in the sleeve.

—————————————————-

10 years later we are speaking
on the phone about the children,
all of them young men now and mostly independent

you talk about wanting to see them more often
but it’s hard to arrange, you tell me about your new man
and how things are working out.

In a moment of candor you speak of the past
confessing it should never have happened.

Who would have thought that in the end
it would be me, who just sat and listened.

for jan

I woke at 2.30am and left you sighing gently as you slept,
checked the trap but found only droppings on the floor
I set the trap again and hoped the rats would leave –
I would prefer not to kill anything.
The dog mawed and moaned at its fleas
rubbing against the rail on the back verandah,
it settled when I whished it back inside to sit
(my mouth made that wist noise, the one you know the dog will hear but won’t wake the sleeping).

I lay on the red couch in the study and read Ray Carver.
A return to Carver simplifying me. If not by sleep I was
comforted by his weave of innocence and knowledge.
Ray started writing poetry in the year I was born (1957),
I don’t know why I mention this, perhaps I feel him like a kindred
spirit and am warmed by even the slightest connection.

Between the living and the dead are the sleeping. However being at rest
is no excuse for ignorance. Ray is at rest – some 18 years.
His poems like me are alive and breathing.

The magpies begin their morning carol as I return to bed before dawn.
Your breath and skin have waited for me.
When we wake, I tell you,
I am grateful our poem continues.

The three of you
waving your brave little hands,
smiling love and mischief at me
through the tinted glass
of the big green bus.

I’m standing tight to the kerb
screaming at the concrete
as I smile
waving back with gusto.
‘I love you ‘
mouthed in silence
‘have I failed you’
a silent question.

I wave until you’ve turned the corner –
gone in a juggernaut like
stolen children;
the street where we laughed
only a minute ago
now more empty than a new coffin.

I walk back to the car knowing we will go through this
again and again
– every time you visit for the weekend.