Another rushed effort. Although it's Saturday, I have been up to my eyeballs in magazines, renewal notices, invoices, competition entry forms etc. Now most of the magazines are in the mail and I have only annual accounts and an AGM left to deal with. Why did I think I'd have time to write poems this month, too?
For this prompt at Readwritepoem I decided to base my poem on my grandfather. Some of what I wrote is quite true and some is entirely made up. It's another one that I'd like to develop further, somehow, when I have a little more time. (Is the title too obvious?)
He always paused a moment
before going through doorways,
a moment more, looking over his shoulder,
before shutting doors behind him.
On sunny days he would gaze
at his shadow, brow furrowed.
He had an air of listening
for something that wasn’t there.
He was a twin they said,
the weaker of the two. They were all
so busy saving him, his brother died.
At his funeral, eighty years on,
the pallbearers stumble,
for one brief moment feeling the weight
of two. His single grave
at the end of the last row
by a bush-filled gully. A breeze
ruffles the leaves, then dies away.