Empty Spaces
They were old, but they were here.
The space left at the table,
An empty bag of donations.
No more shifts in the fridge and bathroom,
Memories that may escape.
“The gap must be minded”
The voice of the dead intones.
The living keep it looping —
For the ones left behind.
Years of days of hours of
being tired from waking up —
It was actually 20 seconds long.
We build walls of whimsy,
Erect castles of closeness,
Around and against the empty spaces.
Yet leave a hole to peek through,
To see the tall grass on the grave.
Roots creating cracks,
Green sprouts from gaps,
Breaking — covering — forming —
A woodland is slow dawning.
History moves in rings,
Memory’s leaves drop every winter,
Press a few.
Keep the frames to hand —
And leave some empty spaces.
What’s going on here?
Last year, my partner and I lost someone. At the same time, there were daily news items from the Covid enquiry in the UK. So, all these thoughts about how we value older people were roaming around my head.
At the same time, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. It’s controllable with medication, but also a lifelong condition. The lead up to my diagnosis was challenging — every day there seemed to be a new thing I could no longer do. On the other hand, it was also a reminder to slow down and appreciate the people around me.
This poem comes from that place and the perspective I got. It’s more about flow and mood than form, which is a departure from how I usually write.
