Desperate, so agonisingly glutted with yearning, Yearning to hear my voice and to know that it resounds, So roundly that I am all at once myself, And so much myself that I remember my eyes, My eyes that have long been forgotten in cruel glass. Cruel, cruel glass! I have long been abandoned, and long been a veil, But such a thin veil that always would wane, It's falling slowly now, like a prophecy fulfilled, Get ready to see, get ready to be seen.
Margy shouts her advice from outside Greggs unsolicited, but often needed usually it concerns fashion - the choice of a scarf - inappropriate shoes for the weather - or the state of a pair of trousers, hanging and baring a cleavage (“No one wants to see that, dear.”)
Margy can be relied upon to wear the same distinct socks – draped around her stocking feet, their multi-coloured design now greyed by wear and the Uxbridge Road.
Margy is more reliable than her friends and she tells them as much (“You’re all a bunch of time wasters.”) demanding more loyalty and demands from me enough for a cup of tea - a very expensive one apparently.
And on a Sunday, she’ll kneel and pray throughout the early Eucharist, declining the bread and wine (”On, no dear. It’s not a habit I want to cultivate.”)
There was Beauty in Her Silence, So Beautiful was Her Voice. Each Kiss She gave, was Elegant. They made My Heart Rejoice. Now Her Memories are an anchor, Dragging down My Feet and Heart. My weight, is slowly sinking. But My Soul is not ready to Depart. As the Clouds begin to Gather. Thunder strikes the Ground. My Shadow is ready for the Night. But My Voice has lost it's Sound. I wish, I was.....true to Her and had, My wrongs Mended. My Dreams, will just be Dreams. As now Her life has Ended.