The Crafterlife

snuff out the candles,
silence the dog.
fasten the doors,
savour the dreg of wine.

gently lift the tonearm
-the silent void returns
in the still moonlight
the radiator heart beats.

cool bare soles upon
coarse wooden boards
padding meekly up the stairs.
how silent, how still

life seems without him.
how large a space,
how stern a house,
coveting master’s return.

tender gentle ablusions,
clothes are folded and smoothed.
a tiny frame slips under blankets
barely creasing the sheets.

for one hour before sleep
she thinks of this silent world,
where he is and why he’s gone
how she knows he won’t return

her calm, still breathing crackles
and her forehead starts to warm
cheeks now flushed and angry
tears spilling in a bid of calm.

choking through her sadness
breaking the death within the room,
a log falls to her heart’s embers
and her soul begins to burn.

It’s not your fault

that it is the way it is.

You, no doubt, have

had your own trials.

Difficulties. Doubts.

So don’t feel awkward

or guilty or embarrassed.

It isn’t your fault.

I made the choices I did.

That I feel, this way.

This process is somewhat cathatic

and yet, the specifics fail me.

Words cannot draw clearly

quite how miserable

i’m feeling.

Dulled. With no pattern

or pace. Or reason. Just

typing. Flatly.

Such complex structures

are human natures

and yet all I have

are facebook pictures

to show you a glimpse of who

I have become.

But maybe with this, I can

at least, pretend that

there is more than your

eye is seeing. That maybe,

really, I am more interesting.

When actually my life is

embellished by statuses,

comments and images,

carefully selected and

consciously presented.

You are not shown

the empty long evenings,

the tired eyes beneath makeup

smears. My ugly dry flesh

disguised and bound. Scars.

Don’t feel guilty. I know you

havent thought twice, of course,

but perhaps on the off chance.

Just keep going. I’ll be here a while yet.

Waiting for time, or life,

something, to pass.

My grandfather smiled at me from his chair,

in which he rested at a crooked angle.

I was sat dutifully on the floor

Finishing off my jigsaw.

Mum told me earlier

while we were making chocolate crispies

that grandfather was not well

and I was not to make a fuss.

This meant sitting quietly

and not asking too many questions.

“Come here lad, and let me see you.”

my grandfather’s hoarse voice croaked.

I scrambled off the floor and

stood expectantly by his knee.

His face was waxed and creased,

crumpled and then smoothed,

like the drawing I threw across the room

when I coloured outside the edges.

“Lad, you must promise me

to be most big and brave,

and always look after your mother.”

Grandfather sounded stern.

I watched his nose hair quiver.

“Never doubt yourself, and always,

make the most of opportunities”

I asked grandfather what that meant

And he said to say yes to adventures.

“Make sure you marry a good lady

and make sure you treat her just right.

You never know what life holds for you

But you’ll know a dark lonely night.”

Grandfather’s eyes looked greyer

so I smoothed his paper thin cheeks.

I looked at the photos behind him

Of medals and uniform and honour.

“Grandad I have decided already.

I am going to grow up to be

just like you were at this age,

and do all the things you did”

My grandfather looked at the clock

Breathed slowly and closed his eyes,

his hand tightened mine quite fiercely,

he said “Yes, I was afraid you might.”