I Thought of You
I thought of you last night.
Tall, gracious, kind.
Saw those days of childhood when your home was a special place,
And the smell of lavender in the bathroom never failed.
The organ in the hallway waiting each time with its large
Brown hood rolled down.
Your fingers were art themselves.
Guiding paintbrushes, needles, notes,
With a touch that could never be taught.
The shell of your weakened body didn’t stop you,
Not really, it told a story that hadn’t reached the end;
There were mornings to be viewed for a while longer,
Alarms to ring at six thirty am in time for breakfast at seven.
Walks to take along the route that recognises you by now,
And expects your steps upon the grass.
It did all stop, of course. It had to.
You’d hardly even know now, the overgrown fields
Where balls once bounced as your dog played twice a day.
I barely knew it myself. But then, as I thought of you,
And drives in your van that had chairs, a table,
Even a bed;
Each place went you went counted as a thread, a tie,
A knot wound far too tightly to ever be undone.