Nine years ago this afternoon
You were putting the kettle on.
Making a cup of tea.
Answering e-mails.
The future still imagined.
If I knocked on your door
I would see you again,
Walking along the hall to open it.
So ordinary.
Still here.
The sea holds a part of you
So it’s where I come,
And write your name in the sand
With shells, and as I finish,
The top of ‘P’ has walked away!
I realise your name will be dispersed
By tiny legs even before the waves
Can take you, and it’s like the beach
Is coming alive, to make us laugh.
Everything is absurd.
Afternoon grows into evening
Small bodies wriggle between
the shells of their ancestors
Waiting for the tide
To take them home.
And you would be there
Swivelling in your chair
In front of the computer.
If I rang your phone now
There is still time
For you to answer.
