Saturday, 27 April 2013
No-one told me; one day she was there
and the next she was gone. And then she
was back again but somehow emptier.
Silence was thrown over us like a damp blanket.
No questions. But I imagined her staring
at the ceiling. Her gaze was like glass;
but something inside was cracked beyond repair.
They had put her in the spare room. I watched
the door from the top of the stairs. The room
stank of hops; it had been used to make beer.
Strong and dark and bitter, never going away.
I wanted to take her dinner. I was told no.
Three days later, she rose; she had no smile left.
Her eyes were holes into a nothingness.
I waited; when there was no-one there, I asked.
She said ‘they used hooks’. The room was painted
white again and again, desperately clean.
She went into exile like a mediaeval queen.
‘You’ll like it there; nobody will know,’ they said.
‘It’ll be a whole new start for you’.