...these days, these days...
Their growing pains.
Their unabated joy.
My childishness. My adulthood. Their conversation.
Standing back and watching them. At play. At war.
My conversations with Calvin.
With the ghosts at my shoulder.
My shoulder. Tightening. Pain spreading to my arm.
My right arm. My writing arm.
My father's shoulders...
Language haunted by ellipsis -
Calvin, again.
Rebuking a stranger
on an anniversary
otherwise unmarked.
My mess. My rage for order.
My introversion. My extroversion.
My impatience with complexity.
My learning. Our negotiation.
The grace I am given.
The gifts of anger.
The safety discovered
on the tightrope
through a dark valley.
Working by touch.
Red and black fabrics.
Brunch rush. Old photographs.
A bottle of wine in good company.
And another. Singing down West End.
The twigs in my hair.
The view from the top.
And the view from right here.
Me telling her,
'Mary saw the bear for us'.
Sleeping like spoons.
