‘How long does grief last?’ she said.
A gifted child with a fragile mind
Giving up her time for strays
And broken down spinsters
And her elderly neighbour.
She came to see me at the end.
My end. The one I’ll tell you about
If you’re around. And
Feel free to. Stick around, that is.
Unless you have things to do instead.
She said to me that she was being bullied.
So I told her not to worry.
The best people are bullied.
She smiled. Kind of. Then said
‘You were bullied too.’
I said that I was and that right now
It didn’t matter a whole lot
But what did matter was …
Then my voice faded (she told me afterwards)
And my eyes closed. Out and away.
It took her a while to find me.
The scent of all things boundless
Lingers but has no direction.
Not like carnations or cash
Or sons with somewhere else to be.
She’d told me to hold on and I did
I held on to her delicate truth.
The beauty of her spirit. And love.
And it was worth the wait.
But then again; isn’t it always?
(inspired by the Self-Help Whisperer)