The Universe and Pocket Change

Certainty -

I carried it ignorantly through the sun baked paths,

the scabbed knees,

the Dettol (yes, Dettol) baths,

of childhood.

Because I spent it in your shadow.

Sheltered and secluded, a burrowing creature,

with summer bronzed skin and dirty shoes.

Until you left.

Ignorance is bliss,

and I had been blessed with buckets of it.

I believed, truly, I would deal with yours best,

because with larval oblivion I could not see that I held

tight

tick-like

to the true faith that the universe had a centre,

and that centre was unshakeable...

and you.

The glue.

My belief was absolute,

Without knowing: a blind girl on a rope,

not feeling the hands that steadied,

or the net below until the scales...

fell.

And the drop...

and the silence you left - the grace to wish to leave without noise.

Without flair.

On the wind, like the ghost of a song from behind a just closed door...

with the centre of the universe in your pocket,

jangling like change amongst the lipstick

and peppermint cremes,

and balled handkerchiefs.

Next to the coins for the carpark ticket machine.

In nothing but grace and heels -

made for hooking over the barstool.