“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews
Today was the anniversary of my husband’s funeral.Someone had said she’s stay overnight.When we came home here she said
You don’t want me to stay,do you?
So I said,no
Then they went and I sat here alone,it was very hot.Everything seemed unreal like a Play.
I kept thinking it would revert to normal but there is no normal then
Every night my husband came, he clutched my hand and made me run
Run, run, we must find the car, he kept urging me.Unlike in real life I could run in the dream
Round every corner was another corner, then another
we never found the car park
That went on for a month.
After that we spent a week cleaning the cooker together in silence
With steel scourers.
The oven is a womb, the fire that keeps life going
It can be otherwise, of course.Bring death.
Then he told me he had bought me a new house in Ealing
Draw your own conclusions
The day his mother died he’d cut his arms
With bits of pointed glass like frosty nails
The blood had stained his shirt, yet made him calm
He did not like to make a scene or wail.
The day his mother died he sat alone
Wondering what to eat or who to call
Above him was hot sky, a blue, blue dome
Below the earth where very soon she’d fall
The day his mother died he hugged his cat
She alone gave comfort without blame
His eyes were silent,still and very black
What hope, what help, where is the nameless Name?
The day his mother died he went to sleep
To dream and wander in the deepness deep