It has been very difficult to write recently for a number of reasons, so I’m going to write in lyrical form, as it seems to be easier.
In my plaza flora stands, but does not thrive –
Flowers breathe out their colour.
I am most aware of absence
Which swells, in disparity to my appeal,
Like a tree which grows but pales in colour,
And which cannot parade foliage –
Insipid and stark beside its counterparts.
They remain unassailable.
The syllables of the words I cannot speak
Choke and clog and strangle.
And still, the closet stands, full of all the garments.
I wish again to give myself up; to surrender and feel silence –
To be able to muffle and dull the sounds;
I wish to be cleansed pure.
I try to elude the scratching and plucking –
I know I must to subsist.
But it is hard.
Yesterday it was 8 months since Freddie was born, and soon it will be the fifth month anniversary of when he should have been born. Tomorrow Sam and I will attend a remembrance service at the hospital.