standing

if i look back
regret still waits there

with its dark yowling hungry mouth


abysmal gorgon stone transfixing paralysing saltbound breath


the past is ruined now
ravaged by understanding


the light of all those painful conversations casts its dark
and i can't see the landscape any more


I do not know it
do not recognise and
cannot own it




where is there to stand
except the present?

nowhere else to look but forward

silver

paper
cotton
leather


linen
lace



teeth (skin)
and fingernails


scraping teetering on the sharpest edge
of hope and disappointment
ground(?) which bears no comfortable weight

no time to rest
no
none
at all
who could have guessed?



if we had forseen
what would we be, now?
- how would we have done it, then?
how?
how would we?

would we?


willow is in there somewhere
famed for bending without breaking

if green
or living
or wet through



roped one to the other by shared regret
disputed memories
climbing side by side
scarcely together

our clumsy feet dislodging arguments like rocks
worn smooth with handling
compulsive handling
smooth
still heavy weights

your face reflecting distance and uncertain
in the uneven patina of hurt


i could go on,
pursue the tiresome metaphor of compasses
stuck
and maps
tattered muddied and torn

or lost


i could go on
if i had the heart for it


we could

if we had



16 to 19 have no name
likewise 21 to 24

faceless or familiar

the photographs cannot be trusted
unreliable signposts
to dubious destinations


and there i go again
poetic detours slyly round the swamp
slipping eliding
swerving to miss
the sticky mud
the persistently massing bruise



i could give names to those anonymous years
if i had the heart for it


i could
if i did

we could
if we had

All Days Lost Days

by carol ann duffy



All Days Lost Days

Living
in and out of the past,
inexplicably
so many things have died
in me.

In and out like a tide,
each tear
holds a tiny hologram.
Even this early
I am full of years.

Here are the little gravestones
where memory
stands in the wild grass,
watching the future
arrive in a line of big black cars.

All days
lost days, in and out of themselves
between dreaming
and dreaming again and half-
remembering


carol ann duffy, new selected poems 1984-2004, Picador 2004

wet rag

wrung out
misery welling up secretly liquid

seeping sodden
creeping sudden shadowing

oozing in fibre and pore

heavy and cold
limpen and leaden

scrap of enormity

looking

i keep looking for your brief blurry outline through the front door glass

hurrying ahead to be first arrived, for hugs, smiles, bringing little gifts, giving the kitchen sink a "proper"clean

tea and talks and walks

your little shape, too small to be hugged too hard



i keep thinking of you in charity shops

this and that you'd like, but would it fit you now?
our history could be traced through our charity shopping



i keep wanting you




i keep listening for the sound of you


but i'm not sure i remember your voice