Afterlife
Written for Erin.
I have come to bear counsel unto
a great grief,
she said with a raindrop-soft voice
with hands folded in a silk lap, long-fingered hands that folded together like sorrow
And there he saw that her hands were sorrow, and her voice
soft as moth wings circling a candleflame
was soft because her voice had gone
with weeping
And there he saw that she had come for him
A great grief? he said
as he knelt
as he took her sorrow-fingered hand and pressed it to his forehead
Yours
And there he saw that her face was ugly
though her hands were beautiful and long
and her black hair
fell like the cascade of a waterfall
and her almond eyes brought him memories of India
and the dark colour of beauty
But despite it, her face was ugly
because it was plain
And there he saw that he should love her plainness
They didn't want my dream,
he whispered to her and she touched his face
They called my best dream trash
Who cares for my soul?
She said
(she touched his face and held her arms out
for him)
said
I do
and you belong to me because every poet is mine
and the dreams are mine and the
best dreams
are kept within me
I do
and your best dream is mine
And I have come to bear counsel unto a great grief
a grief which is to be alone
a grief which is to be lost
You are mine and no longer lost
Why,
he asked her almond eyes
which made him recall the jungles in India
many long years ago
where he hid and sweated and the mud and grapeshot made dreams the last thing he thought of
why,
he murmured to the sorrow-fingered hands
which made him recall showing spiderwebs to his son
why
is Poetry not beautiful?
And there he saw her laugh
saw her red lips part (red the colour of maple leaves in autumn) and
her almond eyes glitter
for he saw that he had asked a foolish question
and the shrapnel in his left leg pained him
and the stiffness in his right hand hurt him
He looked away from her plain face
heard her cease to laugh with a soft little breath
And there he saw that she did not laugh at him
O,
poet,
she said to him
with a snowflake-soft whisper
Take off your uniform, poet, and I
shall give you a white morning suit
that you may sit on your verandah with your tea and write in the sun
Poetry has an ugly face because you
have given her eyes dark beauty
and her eyes are the mirrors of her soul
She has no need for a beautiful face,
poet,
because of you
Are you my poem?
he asked
and the stiffness in his right hand hurt him
but she lifted it in her long-fingered hands and kissed it
And he likened her lips to maple leaves in autumn
or holly berries at Christmas
when the world was hidden silent behind the snow
My poem?
he asked
and his brass uniform buttons turned to silly faux pearl
to go with his white morning suit
and the pearly tipped cane by his side
O, O, poet
I have come to bear counsel
unto a great grief
a grief which is to be wordless
a grief which is to be voiceless
Yes, your poem
who has returned to you
And there he saw that he was able to walk again
to stand without assistance
and to bow before her
and her black hair reminded him of waterfalls in India
and the black waves of the ocean
the black stretches of sand in the Icelandic deserts
the black coal in Scotland
and the black hair of the Japanese
and the black shells in Italy
and the shrapnel in his left leg pained him
but she laid her sorrow-fingered hand on his knee until the pain was gone
And with a rustling
that brought back memories of the rustling leaves of his maple in Surrey
when the autumn brought them down
she gave him papers and a plain black-ink pen
And there he saw that his words had returned to him
They didn't want my dream,
he told her
They threw back my
best dream
You,
she said with a raindrop-soft voice
with long-fingered hands that drew back her black hair and brushed it away from her almond eyes
which made him think of Indian women, wrapped in coloured scarves
with red lips that laughed while her voice was gone from weeping
which made him think of the black sand in Iceland blowing in the cold wind, part despair and part solitary
peace
You,
she said with a snowflake-soft whisper
with an ugly face that he knew well he should love
already did
You
will make a better one
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