And after all

And after all

What shall I keep?

Of you of this?

A scarf a cap a jumper

Medals

A mile of celluloid

A mountain of dance cards and menus.

A life time of

“To my complete satisfaction”

signed in turquoise ink but more usually Quink Black up to the age of 54

(the age that I am now)

A small quiet corner of history

Or your moment in the sun

A suitcase of cuttings

And headlines in the broadsheets

That I feel dirty or self glorifying if I sell or share

Who should care?

That this man’s talent was seen

When so many go unnoticed ?

Campaign all day for the women

And squander my creativity to valorise one man?

He would not seek it

And still he’d revel in the fun

But not at the cost of my show

We didn’t sail well together

We were better on the land

Not sure if the stage could have been our shared arena!

As well we never tried. Yet

He was not attention seeking

But attention found him

And his light still shines

Warnings of rocks

And inviting you home

To share the party

Where-ever the party is.

So you’re a stranger

No stranger

Just a friend he hasn’t yet met

And though we argued about all that a man or a woman -mostly a woman – mostly a yachtswoman should be – we argued in years back … we basically agreed about what a person should be.

Decent, kind, fun-loving, although I’m sad he didn’t always see enough of that with / in me. Although we had a survival/special laugh. A laugh that got us through.

So what to keep of you? What to keep and what have I already COVID shattered thrown. How much to live of you? And how much to be free now in this international year of mourning.

A private grief and a nagging voice. Time to move on and push on into the world.

This better world I talk about daily.

It could happen without you or you could wake yourself up and help shape it.

And this is what you keep :

In your hoarding squeezebox-file brain

Idea- a project about my father. Sorry mum

Sitting in the attic until I can. Until I need him.

No need to cast him into the trash yet.

And if I am gone

Before it is done

Then let the nieces and nephews or the skip truck come

Whichever is first

Legacy (autocorrect writes Patagonia which would be fun) or oblivion

Either way, I’m an end of a line.

One thought on “And after all

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