I wrote this piece/poem recently and got to share it tonight at a local event called Borderlands where the theme was ‘liminal space’. That place of being between what was, and what is to come.
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I’ll just sit here.
If it’s ok with you.
I’ll just sit right here.
And wait.
I’ll set my empty bag just here.
While I wait.
I won’t be long.
I don’t think I’ll be long
He’s only left there now and he’ll be right back
He left all of a sudden, talking about the beginning,
or the end, or the beginning of the end.
I’m not too sure.
I couldn’t really hear that clearly or think that clearly either.
And now I’m not too sure what he actually did say.
And then he stopped talking anyway.
It was almost like he’d run out of things to say.
We had said quite a bit before that to be honest.
Both of us.
Things like:
I’m sorry.
What if?
Why?
I love you.
We said that a lot.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
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I’ll just sit here.
If it’s ok with you.
I’ll just sit right here.
And wait.
I’ll set my bag of disbelief just here.
While I howl my tears.
He left all of a sudden.
But he’ll not be back.
He’ll not be back at all.
And now I have to sit here and find the words to tell my children that he won’t be back.
Daddy won’t be back.
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I’ll just sit here.
If it’s ok with you.
I’ll just sit right here.
And wait.
I’ll set my bag of sorrow just here.
While I wait to be strong.
Can you hear the laughter and the chat?
Can you read the room and tell that they miss him too?
Can you hear the stories?
They’re trying to tie the memories to the now.
Can you feel that empty space?
Where he was and now he’s not.
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I’ll just sit here.
If it’s ok with you.
I’ll just sit right here.
And wait.
I’ll set my bag of remembering just here.
While I wait and warm to the memories.
We put lots of photos into an album and we smile every time we look at them.
People send me pictures they’ve found and we add them in.
We add in some more remembering.
And it brings more smiles.
And more tears.
Ethan thinks he’s forgetting his Daddy’s voice.
So we listen to all his old voicemails.
And the secretly made recordings of him telling his famous and familiar stories.
And we laugh.
And we cry.
We drink whiskey on his birthday and can’t believe another year has gone by since he left and he didn’t come back.
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I’ll just stand here.
If it’s ok with you.
I’ll just stand right here.
And wait.
I’ll set my bag of deep breaths just here.
While I wait for confidence.
The hammer action on his drill doesn’t work. Can I borrow yours?
The yard is filled with his tools
and screws
and insulation boards
and lengths of pipe
and kitchen door samples.
Can you help me clear things out?
The garden overwhelms me.
Can you and yours give me a hand?
I’m not too sure about boys and their shaving.
Can you show him?
The car battery’s flat.
Can you pop round and get me going?
Again.
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I’ll just walk here beside you.
If that’s ok.
I’ll just walk right here.
I’ll carry my bag of hope.
While I walk this new, unfamiliar and unchosen path.
I’ll carry my bag of hope which seems to be growing heavier.
All the time actually.
Maybe you could take one handle?
This one right here.
If that’s ok with you.
Mud and Sparkles 