like it requires an apology
WORDS Gillian Swain
NOT FOR SALE
Like it requires an apology you say you’re
Out of practice
Versions of ourselves sent weekly
Extended through years and nothing
Lost to time or distance
I still remember the rush of torn envelopes
New paper scent, page spillage
Eager fingers unfolding
Story and secrets and I would
Lunge into the lines hungry.
Other than greying hair and
Voluptuous proportions (mine at least)
Every pen-stroke, every image, remains familiar
Long sweeps, the slope and curl
I return seamlessly to this music
Notes we’ve scribed along time
Each year we grew quieter
Silence slowly replaced stamps
Licked and pressed and gone.
Other life took us and still
Vivid memories of two young things
Erase any sense of disconnect.
Loss was something we shared
It stayed understated
Nested like a waiting bird
Each year a line in the weave
Strengthening our story.