Eight years,  

it is, 

since you left us, D. 

Eight years  

and it is only now,  

that I feel I can face the real of your being  

gone.

I remember shouting -  

'No! 

No, no, no. It's a mistake. You're wrong. It's someone  

else,'  

and fiercely assessing messenger's face, 

hunting the Lie with Exocet eyes  

ready to bare teeth, rip flesh but seeing only pity - becoming un- 

tendoned,  

ham- 

          strung. 

Then gurgling  

some- 

            thing, banding arms  

cross abdomen, 

bending over  

        as if vomiting  

        or holding in entrails, 

stifling the spiralling, the uncontrollable, monstrous,  

shameful  

howl- 

          ing.

.

I remember  

your funeral. 

How people scrambled, without dignity -  

to get good seats 

being a small chapel - they even crowded  

round the font, rested elbows on it 

and how the chaplain seemed  

stamped 

with an expression that said 'Why was  

I  

chosen?' 

regurgitated a crop full of nonsense, 

very close to insults. 

Insufferable. 

She implied you were simple, 

She never used the word 'retarded' but it hovered  

at the edges 

of her ignominious reminiscences. She hinted 

that no-one had really ever expected you to  

amount to much. 

Yet, by golly, you managed to actually score and then hold 

down a job. 

Got married - imagine that! 

No children - blessing, really!

.

Unforgiveable.

.

How I hated her.

.

You had  

the most open heart  

I had ever encountered. 

You had  

room enough for everyone 

in there, 

especially the undeserving. 

You made  

sure those who needed to be - were  

visited, 

called in regularly to see  

if they needed a hand, the elderly, the lonely, the marginalised, 

the ones the others despised, they were all  

embraced, all 

your friends, you talked to everyone. 

You were the Community at Giffard West and beyond.

.

You were so kind, gentle, unfailingly generous. 

You always had time, 

you were a pretty, bloody, ordinary cook  

but you'd wack on a chook or a barbecue and ring around. 

Or you'd buy that,  

let's face it,  

fairly disgusting frozen cookie dough, 

pop it on a tray, call and say, 'Come on, down.' 

You were a bit of a clown, loved fun but you never drank, 

you were a total teetotaller, non-swearer, 

had never dragged on a fag, let alone a joint.

.

I remember your wedding, 

how you had us all blow streams of soap bubbles 

instead of throw confetti 

and how you stood in a garden, surrounded by swaying, overblown roses 

and giggled as you made your vows. 

I'd never seen such...  

such complete, uninhibited joyousness, 

I wish you'd had a son,  

D.  

I wish you'd

lived.

.

I wish you were here, now.