After their death, for a while
They walk where they used to be.
You see them in old places,
Reflected in Woolworths’ window,
In the avoiding turn of a head,
As the flash of a ring in a crowd
Thick on a nicotined finger.
Slowly they abandon those places
To crouch in shadowed lanes of the heart,
Alleys of almost forgetting;
Thinned like the mornings of childhood
Under the noon stare.
There they dream, that
They may take your hand again
And squeeze it white
In one iced moment of unwanted remembering.
Do you want to be where we are?
Do you want us to close you in the hollow of our arms?
Do you yet believe it truly happened?
Or are you still building bricks by the fireplace
Thinking we’ve stepped out to warm the beds?
(Iota 2006)
Words with music 
April 30, 2009 at 11:58 am
A beautiful poem – some lovely, poignant touches. I liked the move at the end – the shift to asking questions of the dead, that are never answered.
April 30, 2009 at 12:24 pm
This poem is so descriptive and strong – the longing, acceptance and finally the unanswered questions. Chilling for the reality – forcing all of us who still have parents to ponder
May 4, 2009 at 8:58 am
This poem expresses loss and sorrow so powerfully – it made me cry. Thank you for making me remember.
May 18, 2009 at 5:59 pm
I guess I agree there’s something truthful in this poem, which is perhaps why it works for some people. Though it actually was prompted by a dream about my Dad, rather than my Mum. She might be a little dismayed to know I’d written it, as she’s still going strong. It was the power of dreaming him still alive, then waking, that gave me the poem.
July 9, 2009 at 10:48 pm
Quite prophetic considering the fate of Woolies!! Noel I love the fragility and I like how it’s them – the dead parents – that might dream of holding hands – very very tender.
September 3, 2014 at 9:24 pm
‘…And squeeze it white
In one iced moment of unwanted remembering’ is wonderful.