In Memoriam

P1020122

A Little Wave

I didn’t know that it would be the last

time that I’d see you. In that living room

 

where South Pacific droned to fifteen down-

cast silver heads. You receded as we

 

approached you, all six foot and eighty-six

years of you shrinking, the heavy blinks of

 

a napping cat. I saw blood on your mouth

that was only jam – a practical joke

 

gleaming on your lip, undetected for

the hours since breakfast. South Pacific

 

still blared on as we left. You acknowledged

us for the first time to wave a small goodbye.

 

Ours the only three names in the guestbook.

Ours the only tyres on the gravel outside.

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