We had a beautiful friend Rose, who left us today. She was dry and thoughtful, a Pinot Noir, Australian vintage.
Her life lived full and joyfully like wine
now the last translucent drop faded
a rose on her sheet on her hospital bed, gently placed
We will remember her life
with her happiness
her sadness
salty
traces
on
faces
Vale Rose Hayden, Jan 2016
.
The photograph crackled when i looked at it the second time. The first glance was fine. I had printed a heap of them, only to find this one of a tree with a blank grey Northern sky of late winter. I’m sure the photo was fine, but then a great metal crack appeared zooming through it. Like it couldn’t restrain itself. It just had to be. Life is so like that at times, everything seems fine and then an irreversible crackle sounds suddenly and you struggle to mend the cold enormity of it and maybe even pretend it is not there. But it is, real and larger than the tree you so carefully cultivated for years. You see that evident sometimes, divorced people tear their brittle life photo memories apart, or fold then in half and keep their ex facing the hardboard of the picture frame, while they cheerfully look out into the room from a scene from way back. Perhaps the folding types want to keep the ex there, just in case – perhaps they can mend the whole thing somehow. Hope to mend the love that was, now lost in an instant.
Still the crack itself is not a gap, it’s a thing dividing the brittleness of the scene. I went back there, to the park with the tree in it. And yes, i felt i had to go an touch the metal of the tear in the air, spiking up like lightning in reverse. It was cold and heavy with condensation to touch and I felt no calm with its seemingly infinite jagged height. Made of hardened stainless steel and welded together, it’s permanency in the face of future storms looked assured. The rent in the photo had turned into a real thing. A spire of substance, permanence and worth.
Still there is hope and a faith in mending. Love is something which can be rebuilt and mended. There is still time to take another photo of the tree. Just the tree this time, steady in focus with my back leaning on the cold of the spire. And so the new photo shall not crack.
Stand all alone, bare beach
Cold hands warm waves sandy feet
Bag of oysters – sharp as rocks – good to eat
but the love, of his life, out of reach
Should she ever coming back forgive the heat of the conversation when they meet last time ?
He really wasn’t sure of that and feeling quite level headed decided that actually there may never be another conversation. He turned around and stepped southward along the shore walking along the water margin and whistled to his dog to catch up. At least Oscar would stick with him he hoped. The stars were coming out and he stopped and looked into the sky. There was constancy there in the dark with the celestial sphere up there. Gradually rotating inexorably at the same speed day in day out.
‘Oscar! – he shouted over the sound of the waves.
A bark and the dog was up to him already standing back and waiting for him to throw something. He picked up a bit of driftwood and through it into the waves. The dog bounded in after it and after some few moments came bounding out of the water, flicking salt slake all over the place and then giving a good shake after dropping the wet stick at his feet.
“ok you old joker — Oscar, I suppose you’ll miss her as well – eventually. What if the whole world slowed down and the days got longer and the stars moved slower, he asked ? Would the moon care Oscar ? Just because the days get longer, doesn’t mean the year would. Still take the same number of heatbeats….. all totally wasted no doubt. Would she notice ?”
The dog barked – still waiting for him to pick up the stick.
He picked up the stick and started drawing in the sand. First a heart, then some initials then – the dog sniffed and barked again. They both sat down and got out the bag of oysters.
Shucks the oysters
wags the dog
moonlight glistens
stars are gone
warm waves sandy feet
suck the oysters – aftertaste – feel the beat
but the love, of his life, out of reach
The restaurant was quiet and somewhat darkened in the twilight. Two friends chatting, eating out reading the news on the web.
October 2014 – Southern Comets Homepage – ‘Siding Springs Comet’
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