It's starting to rain,
Young Sabrina said,
Sitting up in bed,
Gazing out of her
Window, taking in
The city and sky,
And the changing of
Weather. The city
Looked quite different in
The rain: looked fresher,

New born, as if some
Giant had lain out
In a shower with
All parts unclean cleansed
And made new in look
To gaze of the eye.
But who was there to
Tell now that Jude was
Gone, who to lay her
Head against, who to

Hug to for warmth or
Human contact in
Her big double bed?
He would have touched her
With his finger down
Her spine, have kissed her
Shoulder with his lips,
Have bitten in play
Her soft tender thigh.
That was what made her

Choke up, made her cry:
That knowing he'd not
Do that anymore,
Not be there with his
Love and embrace, not
Be there to gaze at
Her, eye-to-eye, face
To face. It's raining
Hard, Sabrina said,
Parting the window

Blinds with her fingers,
Taking in the block
Of tall offices
That came into her
View across the way,
The greying skyline,
The dull day. But who
Was there to relate
The fact of rain, who
To share her body

With, whom to sense her
Grief and pain? Jude had
Died: 9/11.
No final kiss; no
Fond farewell; just the
Silence of lost love
And an empty bed,
And a vacant space
In her heart and head.

A 2009 poem of mine. Now available in my book of poems Be Your Fantasy.
#woman   #grief   #911  
 
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