As my eyes open to the grey stocktake of another morning, I wonder “Is it all still true?”. It’s not really hope but it still hurts when it goes away.
I tell myself that I understand the facts. I drum the story like fingers on a desk. But even in the face of loss, only one day passes at a time like the sound of idle fingers in shivered air.
I know it’s ridiculous but I saw you all through the shops today. You were waiting for your receipt in a blue shirt – a little different to your usual style. You were choosing mushrooms, bent to the task, your hair a little too grey as it fell forward from your shoulder and grazed your cheek. You were sitting in a cafe waiting, legs crossed in three quarter length pants, a sudden haircut to surprise me with. Your mouth wasn’t as happy as I remember and your nose was too aquiline but I still almost heard you say “helloooooo” in that long way you had.
I shook my head and pushed out into the sun.
On the garage roof
raindrops begin their stamping
time's uneven footprints
Written for Go Dog Go Cafe Haibun Wednesday
Out of the Cave 
This is intriguing. Who is it you think you see?
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Oh dear. I must have edited too many darlings. It’s about my friend who passed away in early Feb. I had a couple of other paragraphs but took them out thinking they were a bit … I don’t know … self indulgent.
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I’m curious to read how your “muse” wrote it.
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Okay I may re-post.
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Hi Misky, I didn’t just put back in what I took out because, re-reading it 10 hours later, I still wasn’t convinced. But I re-worked it and I’ve added a paragraph here. All feedback welcome.
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I like it. You’ve drawn the reader into your thoughts rather than being a spectator, and (imo) it works well.
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Many thanks!
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Sorry to hear about your friend / your loss. This is magnificent writing. I was thinking that maybe the subject was just imaginary, like my Janey. I’m still trying to get my next chapbook (The Janey Poems) published & keeping my fingers crossed. Before letting the reader jump in & wonder, page 1 looks like this:
“A Word Before We Begin…
The author wishes the reader to know that there is no Janey. Janey is not a girlfriend or an ex-girlfriend, nor a wife or an ex-wife. The author has never met her.
There is no Janey.
The reader will see that no two Janeys are alike. The author claims to have the photos to prove this.”
It seems like your (lost) friend will never truly be lost. That’s a good thing, I think.
Thanks.
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A lovely response, thanks Ron. Your Janey chapbook sounds intriguing. I think k I have seen and enjoyed some of your Janey poems.
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I love your opening phrase as you open your eyes to that grey stocktake.
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Thanks, Hobbo.
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Always welcome.
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Reminds me of my mom. Such a still, silent feeling when I read this. Beautifully written and so deep. Well done. 🙂
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Thanks. I guess loss is one of the things you never lose. Ho’w’s that for irony?
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