For Kerry, afterwards
Shortlisted as "For Kerry, by the river" for the Bridport Prize (Poetry) in 2011 by UK Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy.
For Kerry, afterwards
In memory of Kerry-Lynn Friesen
It’s come winter, Kerry, I hadn’t noticed.
The sky is loaming and there is moss on the ground.
I walked out by the river for you today, Kerry,
the sky fleshed pink, bloomed a perfect peach
and died. On the way I was held up by an
imaginary stranger, who cuffed my wrist and
threatened to end me. “My sister’s just died,”
I said. “There’s been quite enough of that today,
I think.” And so I let me go, and you saved me again.
I’m on this bench, Kerry. I’d have brought you to it.
The cathedral strikes some hour we might have held,
some nascent evening, slow. You swore we were
kindred, spiriting, did you forget? Paris was ours
in theory, but Life was ours in practice, even if we
didn’t entirely approve. It is funny, I know. We
broke our bodies so perfectly, and you, only you,
you stop. Where are we going to meet now?
You’ve made it harder than it was an hour ago.
Is it wishful to see you in the trees here, Kerry? You
drew a picture of me once, in our dropped days,
I wonder if you remember. I don’t know where I kept it.
Winter has come darling, just this afternoon. It
took me a while to notice, it took me until my fingers
bent blue. It took me until I had called your name
across the way, and you, for the first, failed to answer.
Walking back I was cold, Kerry.