And after all
What shall I keep?
Of you of this?
A scarf a cap a jumper
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
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.