A Year

Inside it was damp and stank like the garage, too many winters had passed.

It was full of snail shells, skeleton leaves and the big chest freezer.

 

You saw something in there, a hideaway, where I saw old,

You pushed your way through years of uncollected belongings.

 

You pulled out forgotten items of no use and found a purpose,

You began to make the unloved beautiful again.

 

That Spring you flung open the windows and let sunlight warm the darkest corner,

You dared to build from what others said was rubbish.

 

 

That Summer I grew things and tended them for it felt OK to dream,

We ate them greedily whilst sitting on an old palette bench in the sunshine.

 

The year grew on and we marched amongst the red apples and purple berries.

The fruits began to fall, their bitter decay intoxicating and vile.

 

As Winter came and the light dimmed you became distant and cruel,

We had a fire to keep and searched for solace amongst its flames.

 

The nights grew longer and the black filled our hearts.

Little by little the dream became frostbitten and bare.

 

One day you were not in the garden, or the house or anywhere.

I searched but only found more emptiness.

 

Brambles and ivy crept through the garden and into my heart,

I clawed at them to be rewarded with their thorns embedded in my skin.

 

With one last attempt to keep warm and see the winter through I lit the fire.

This time it was inside, the house and inside myself.

 

It raged and burnt in glory, its sharp tongues licked but provided no warmth.

For days it burnt with choking black smoke.

 

Inside it is charred and hollow, inside me is charred and hollow,

I’m waiting for you to clear the ashes and let them become the earth again.

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