River Wissey Lovell Fuller

Absence in the Autumn

November 2001

As a poem

As hopeless as the falling leavesAs poignant as those poppy wreathesAs silent as memorial stoneAs I sit and watch alone

As useless as that rotting birdAs it fell down there unheardAs futile as these wicked seasonsAs wasted tears on wasted reasons

As obvious as an empty seatAs spiteful as this so incompleteAs weathered as lost steps retracedAs brave as truth to be faced

As painful each re-enacted wordAs strained and cutting, so absurdAs surviving leaves linger onAs our tree still stands though all else gone

As I suffer underneathAs mushrooms near were just as briefAs footsteps heard and then I sawAs I close my eyes you're there no more

As I snatch sunlight or something greenAs is unheard, unsaid, unseenAs soaring winds above achieveAs honest request for me to leave

As I watch little bird, your pointless beakAs you sing no more when alone we speakAs you rot little one reluctantlyAs desperate elements cling don't we?

As I was real, bloomed fragilelyAs you were a ghost and could never beAs I am hurt for undeserved reasonsAs you are him part of life's seasons

Lisa Jane Turner

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