In Wondering Memories

I feigned sickness for

a day to see you.

Mum, Aunties and us.

Afternoon cake and grown-up talk

never seemed so satisfying.

Going for Gold coupled the

chuckles of constant conversation,

Henry Kelly’s smile almost

as soft and knowing as yours,

like you both saw what was coming.

Your subtle scent and kind eyes

beat a morning of brash trumpeting,

blowing time away again,

an afternoon of existing

in a classroom of white.

As I look across the rows

of my VHS collection,

I remember how I overlooked yours.

How your stomach stuttered

at the bleat of the phone,

how your favourite was

always James Dean,

and how years later

I found myself in his hometown,

the low Indiana sun warming my

mellowed memories of you.

I want to tell you

how I appreciate you.

I want to show you

what I have done,

and that I understand.

And now my hand falters

as it nears the receiver,

and I wonder whether

maybe you know.