Ten

agriculture countryside crop cropland
Photo by Jahoo Clouseau on Pexels.com

 

For my daughter, on what would have been her tenth birthday. We love you. We miss you. Even in the pandemic we do not forget you. x

Ten

 

My darling, this year we must

commune at a distance.

 

I can’t go to your grave

and fetch you back to me

with ritual and gifts;

 

can’t carry you home

in a sling of blue sky

and cherry blossoms.

 

You remain resolutely

earth bound, despite

my incantations.

 

In the early hours

I pace the house bare foot,

looking for a sign from you

 

but find only the penny whistle

of a blackbird,

the gentleness of pigeons on the sill.

 

Where is the ten year old

you would have been?

 

For a moment I feel you

beside me at the window.

My skin goose-bumps

 

against your red hair.

We stand stock still

to watch a Sparrow hawk

 

kill a jackdaw in the garden.

Then you are gone. Slipping

further away than ever

 

folding the earth beneath your feet;

away across the heath, the heather.

 

 

 

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