Little Linda : FOUR
“They think me odd.” She said.
“But Girl you know that this is because you are not of their world.”
“How do I live & find happy here?” She asked.
“Simple.” He replied. “You look within.”
There are days –
of lightness – as if seedhead blossoms
take flight on linen-fresh wind rush-d-days
& I am ok
& the world is ok too :
I do not mourn your loss nor dwell on youthful lithe
carefree laughter / joy – vodka jelly high jinx / pranks
hustle of Covent Garden tube
strobe lights of Ministry of Sound.
I do not miss my best friend
the others who scattered like fragile leaves
when frosts threatened –
when single parenthood
weighed heavy upon slim-slumped-shoulders
& I sat alone with Cloudy Bay for company.
There are days when I am ok
even though I mourn the passing of mum
the treachery of family undone despite the shadow of her ashes
family / friends /youth flown
to a million / trillion splintered smithereens.
All that was is gone
except in mind
and I reflect scorn at the unfamiliar reflection of unfamiliar body
world-worn / weary.
But today –
I am ok as I watch Rome burn,
nod sagely in the field nearby
lone weeping willow weeps
premature rusted leaves no longer green
aberration of nature.