Going, Knowing and Not

No time to crash
through broken
machinery – this morning
the cat’s not breezing
over icey tiles,
charcoal stripes
exclaiming, she’s absent
in that way days
sometimes don’t arrive.

Anticipation’s a bully,
uses what it can –
a speeding car – and not
a single scratch

or that glass-paned
neighbour with
his damp diary and pellets –

until naturally she strolls
in and weapons
clatter, cream
is cream and beauty’s
beaten muscle
heaves up – (the leaves
are emerald
shells once more).

We’d paid our deposit
on grief long before
the doctor sat forward,
and pinching his glasses
told us Dad
was going –

certainty needs
no help, I hung from him
like any tube,
until he was gone,
but sometimes
I still see him bending
that way I still bend,
to scoop up the cat

GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had stories published in Isacoustic*, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail, Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.