I am thinking about you Annie now that
you are no longer a few miles of motorway
and a couple of roundabouts from us here.
I am remembering the meals, the easy chat
and coffee; farewell coats and hugs in a doorway;
that holiday we shared in Brixham, the fear
of the foot noise on the stair which made us believe
in ghosts that week, the sea house creaking, and the air
screeching and crying with gulls in the dark or light
until the wives couldn’t sleep in the haunted place.
(How easy it is to be scared of no-one there.)
And now you are not here, and your face
can only live in memory’s day and night
and everything that was you has been made to leave.
Your smile and voice, your solid kindness and good heart
stay true despite our distracted time apart;
and I still see you there with food and wine, and when
we plunge the cafetière, especially then.
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