Category: Love

The pages squeezed between wake up and work,
turned curtly
impatient to leap from sport to share prices
dismissing columns never read,
when attention ran a red light.
‘Margaret… peacefully… dearly loved wife…. mother of…’
2 cm by 2 cm of ancestry and descendants
biography as condensed novel.

Margaret, only ever one word, official title : secretary to the Director.
PA yet to be invented, or computers.
The unhurried, unjudging nucleus
around which the workplace orbited.
Correcting grammar, booking flights
taking up collections, buying farewell gifts
reforming demand into request
and always knowing, who, where and when.

The appeal was rejected – the plank must be walked,
sign here.
The big O
Outsourced
Outplaced
Outkicked – the door,
most acted as if contagious – they might become infected
Margaret said if I needed an application typed ….

A well – manicured hand held the page
she knew liberty had been taken
and it was my decision
but, 
“ I think it reads better –
more what they’re looking for.”

Ours was a nearly neighbourhood
good enough …. and not quite –
destination and stopover
strivers could claim respectability
climbers, a comfortable ascent camp.
The amenities above average
the schools, much better than that,
no ragamuffins in the juniors
high school blazer and tie for boys
kilt and hat for girls.

High and junior – both
he must’ve been 16
she, six,
each morning
together
side by side
in step, stepping to school.

Crouching at the elementary gate
a squeeze of shoulders and promise –
to be back at day’s end
visual confirmation she has sanctuary
then
backpack swung to insouciance
ear buds inserted
texting fingers begin workout,
a teenager again.
Unselfconscious about uncoolness,
he loves his little sister.

Mallory and Irvine
two names forever linked,
like
Rogers and Hammerstein
Gilbert and Sullivan
Lennon and McCartney
David and Bacharach.
Lost on the summit ridge, of
the summit of the world
Everest, 1924
king and country and empire.

I knew about the siting above the second step
the missing five hours
the empty tent
the three days of waiting
the long, requiem march to Darjeeling.

The mourning
large scale and dramatic
services: many
including a memorial at St Pauls
attended by George V and Queen Mary.
but
mass distorted perspective
until I read about Irvine’s mother
every night
for the rest of her life: 26 years
she left outside light on, in case Andrew came home.