I worked out, a month or two ago, that I’m the same age now as my aunt when she died. So this is hers.


I watched the sea, smelled the waves, sea
heard light catch rising foam;
moon pulls water home.

My shoes were strung, feet were bare,
ankles deep in northern sea.
The empty beach ran free.

Me, my house keys and my phone,
nothing left inside to think.
The rolling tide sinks.

In the end I remembered her.
A small house now quite bare;
my cousin finally lost.

Her death; a successful second try.
Her lamps all metered,
made love a lie.

Her energy for walking, baking cakes,
filling other people’s days.
Never moving far away.

Two marriages, knew no romance,
knew there was nothing new,
to be written about stars.



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