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An Autobiographical Poem
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An Autobiographical Poem The quiet house Voices in the empty kitchen. “I’m leaving” “What?” “Tomorrow” “no..” dancing fingers, and her music Fades in the empty corner where once her piano stood. Garlic and coriander sizzle in a pan, curry from a jar. The fridge, the one I wanted, the bigger one with more room, I hear it’s door swing open and the little light turns on. There’s a birthday cake in there, and caramelised butternut snaps on a plate. Distant voices sing Happy Birthday, and I remember finding the candles, hidden under the brown paper lunch order bags in the bottom drawer. A squeaking black marker, held in the shadow of a tiny hand, and I can smell it’s nail polish perfume as she writes, “one hot with sauce and a chocolate milk” We add the prices up together. And from the bathroom, I hear the toilet roll rattle. like a bell it summons a memory of patting her little bottom dry, and she, looking up at me all smiles. I hear the front gate click. School shoes tap tap tapping on the concrete path, and I wait for a knock. There’s a shoebox on the empty bookcase, A door and window cut from it’s cardboard, “Fairy house” it says And inside is a tiny piece of chocolate wrapped in a tissue. I hear a lullaby in the spare room “Goodnight my fairy princess. Sweet dreams my fairy girl” A slumbering memory curled up in a cold, empty bed, I stand in the doorway for one last look before I myself, turn in. And I remember her mother’s hands strong and tanned, our fingers intertwined. Three short squeezes meant “I love you” and we fancied that that would be our code should either of us ever lay speechless and helpless in a hospital bed. Now I lie here in the dark, on the bed her parents bought us. Ghost gone memories play. And I remember the words, written in texta by a tiny hand. “Happy last night here, mum” they said next morning, they were gone. One skipped with excitement, the other carried a suitcase. They never looked back. In a quiet house, I dust all the stuff they left behind, and in the silence I hear them whispering, “We’ve gone to a better place.”  |
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