missing her face today
as the winter frost sets in

in my mind  i hear the gentle click
of her knitting needles,
she knitted her love with artistry
in 8 ply wool jumpers, scarves,
vests and cardìgans, all scented
with peppermint, jasmine  and rose
the handcream she used for so many years

i go to the cupboard and pùll out the last
piece of her craftsmanship,  a cardigan
in shades of blue and purple, pull it on,
wrapping my body in her love, sighing
as the tears fall from my eyes

i am missing her today....
as the winter frosts sets in

outside the window
the wind keens and roars

all the frustrations
of the world settle
within that voice,

and as it beats it's formless hands
against the the side of the house
and rattles the eaves...

small whispers of ice
sneak inside, under doors
and sigh into our bones

leaving  chills along our spines
and raising the skin in a morse
code message of  loss and sorrow

soon it will pass us over
to seek those who lack
this simple protection
and then, will share  it's misery
with a sad, sadistic joy

I am here
sitting quietly
in the corner

reading,
absorbing,
day dreaming

I am alright
well as alright
as one can be
a month and a bit
on from the death
of a parent.

There is much to do
a life to get on with.

But there is a quiet
in my soul, not harmful
or depressing, just stillness

Like waiting for a train
in a sleepy country station
it will come when it comes
until then just sit and wait
drowse in the sunshine
enjoy the view,
remember love.

Perhaps soon the train will come
and I shall return...

wrapping fine bone china
in yesterday's news

memories float like dust motes
sweeping across my mind

so many years of husbanding
the china cabinet
only for it to remain behind

her precious china
dispersed to grandbabies
now soon to be newlyweds

newsprint smeared on noritake
and wedgewood, tears on eyelashes
and the lily of the valley tea set
witness to it all...

her ring sits on the mantlepiece
worn thin on one side
that dull warm yellow
that gold sometimes takes on

i remember it cutting into my hand
as she held it tightly as we shopped
it was bright and shiny then

she used to wear it on her  longest finger
after dad left us, she left it off for awhile
and then wore it on the other hand

it was tight on her workworn hands then
she took it off again before she went into
this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw

now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting
for me to find a safe place for it
for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit
that will one day be part of my son's  wedding ring,

tide is high
grasping at the sand
moon is low
caressing the wavetops
breeze is fresh
causing us to shiver
body is warm
suggesting we re-enter
the house is quiet
sharing our secret tryst
floor is hard
but not so much to matter
the stars are bright
but they see not, our wantoness
the night is quiet
as we contemplate, our aftermath

you are tethered here now
by just a few threads
gossamer thin
that flex and strain with
each laboured breathe

soon  the last of  them
will  fray and break
and you will be free
to float away

to see and enjoy
new vistas
to be
unencumbered
by that, that drew
you down into the dark

then untethered
you will fly to the heavens
like a bird, small against
the blue, blue sky

or perhaps more akin
to a dandelion seed
be taken by a gust of wind
to a new environ
mayhaps, a cliff top
by a shining blue sea
and there to take seed
and grow again and again
whilst the sea kisses the sand