The ting a single note was key
against coin, a passing
pocket, the handyman pausing to light
the corridor after a week
of burnt filament
and shadow. It was not
the dog turning
a corner. Of course
I look up anyway
because it is easier to recall
than to forget
her and easier still to forget
that recollection
is all I have left.
The last time tag tinged collar
was the last time.
I will get used to this
too soon. I will fail to catch
the first moment
that note chimes
and I don’t look up
anymore.
Dead Ringer
I am so sorry for your loss. It may take a while before you stop looking up
I hope so. Thank you for the gentle words. We were a family of three, my son and Fen and me. It’s too quiet now.
I’m so sorry, too. Occasionally here, 10,000 miles and six years away, I catch out a particular purr at 3am.
It’s strangely comforting to know their ghosts hang around longer than we expect.
Poignant poetry. Well done.
Thank you for taking a moment to read.