Death and Life; An Anniversary

mourning handkerchief number 9 by Frances O'Donnell
One year ago; eighteen years ago – today
Dark as this dark morning can be
A spike of hope rising in the throat of Mr Blackbird
As he woos and harmonises for his wife.

One year ago today
And how?
everything that has passed.
Eighteen years ago today – he and I in our first and continuing embrace.
To this morning clung like a limpet to a rock and the eighteen years
Of tides in and out, Tsunami,
Spring showers, blistering suns,
And just days – have passed.

But this particular day one year ago
Has left a gap like a hole
Worn through a stone on the beach.
In my hand smooth contours that fit,
the hole intrigues and I look
My eye like a soft bodied anemone
For a moment fills the space.

But the negative space is real
Heartbreakingly real
As when my mother and I sat sobbing
On a step and we despaired at our loss
The air pulsing between our loss and our gain of new titles
And the host of new actions and intentions

We must set our minds to.

And yet on that same day my lover and I entwined for the first time
And our presence became a unity
The start of our children
Began on that day eighteen years ago

This day also is the eve of pink hearts the world over,
cliché bouquet of
Long stems and alcohol
Long may my memory be for this date
It has set its heart in my mind

And opened a chink in the door of mortality. 

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