I’ve been unwell the last week so the blog has taken a back seat. I thought I’d jump back in with something different. Following is the piece, Mourning, written one year ago, but now reworked as verse…
Denise cried in public.
In the queue to buy groceries,
one moment composed,
the next shedding quiet,
like spring rain.
She told no one.
Only checkout attendants knew,
commuters on the Belgrave Line,
A mum from school found her hunched near the flexiteller.
Denise told a story of her sick father.
Said she’d be fine.
The crying became her new secret.
It replaced John in those parts of her day-to-day, alone.
Pete knew nothing about either.
All he knew was she’d moved into the guest room.
She saved her sobbing for outside the house
where the being-by-herself was greatest.
She no longer understood
the nature of her tears.