Gone

Through snot and sobs on the phone breaking the news – she’s gone.

The wheelchair will be collected on Thursday or perhaps tomorrow.

Just park on the verge, behind her camper van.

She is gone she is gone she is gone.

Things will be changing now cos she is gone.

Dig out the papers, her time is up – she’s gone.

Space on the sofa and her smile is everywhere.

And I’m not ready.

Funeral director’s returned our call.

Words chosen (all clichés) for the announcement county wide.

Clothes hanging in the wardrobe, from 18 to 12.

My God she put up a good fight.

No nylons for the casket please.

Corners to be swept – outfits to be planned.

Rings gently removed and put away.

But who is ready?

Stories shared and hymns hummed because she is gone.

Local charities already chosen – because she’s gone.

I’m telling you but I’m telling me.

Vases are emptied ready for the tributes heading this way.

I’m rudderless across the swaling and tangled up on the moors

in the loveliest of monochromes.

Out in the open heather yields and granite won’t crumble.

Drifting onwards hoping for a hare

and I’m rattled by the bitter wind coming from the west.

I want to tell her about the skylark falling upwards from a bumpy path,

but I can’t because she’s gone.

A letter folded small in her purse and under the sink I found

bank notes and pills but I can’t ask because she is gone.

We chose Good Vibrations as her exit piece

and it’s so bold across the speakers I’m shaking again.

In each line more splashes of fire and shiny black.

Papers curl softly and clump together by the flames that warm and smite.

Outside the chapel the others are waiting

but the loveliest one is missing.

She is gone.