12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

April 9

The Red Door

needing fire
i stepped through
the red door,
two last times
before I left you
left my cats, my roses
my bonsai ideas
i did so
raw and soulgladdened
though not because it was ever terrible
we never fought
or hated
ever
for all of our years
it was comfortable
porridge-coloured
edged to neatness
mown every saturday after work
i menu-planned and you nodded
and squinted at the red door
as though you knew somewhere inside
that by letting me win the colour
you had allowed my aorta
to widen

i could have ticked along
happy with just a red door
but a year of poetry pummelled
the wood
wanted in

so i opened it
stepped through
amazed by the ease
shaken only
by the comprehension
that the value of someone teeters
when the end has come
and practicalities
push their way into the morning

perhaps I was too red
for you
against all that affirmative white
for you too much
for me too pink

now

you look happy
you look younger and thinner
than you have in some years

i imagine reproduction prints
quaint gallic cafes
groves of PVC olives
allowed to ramble
in a long ago kitchen
a planet away
your own little mediterranean

trimmed by language
in a culture older than ideas
i am growing well
this side of the red door
in time for the season of the poppy.

P1140625

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