It shouldn't have come as a shock,
that this grief so resembles a love affair.
Could there be this deep well of loss,
if love hadn't carved out a space here?
It isn't the quiet, later chapters,
of loyalty, respect and of honour,
it's the first tsunami of romance I'm feeling,
that throws the world off kilter.
You remember? I know you remember.
The unguarded chatter, the sleepless hysteria,
being woken early by a song,
not yet written. The sex obsession.
(That's something those Ted Talks on grief don't mention).
If I'm honest I've enjoyed this strange engulfing,
but now it is passing. A second loss.
I'm still telling you my secrets.
Our cabal of two I cannot surrender.
You would tell me your dreams, first thing,
the ones you remembered.
If a great line had come to you in the night,
you'd recite it, excited,
holding my wrist: '"Katie, get this."
And how often your dreams featured loved ones you'd lost
Ada, Champ, Jesse, then Joseph.
I dreamed of Danny Kaye last night,
all golden curls and shining grin
And knowing how, as a boy, you'd loved him,
I went off to find you, in my dream,
so you didn’t miss him, dancing.
You couldn't be found.
But I knew I'd wake you up with the tale,
come the morning.
