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