'Unravelling' in 'From the City to the Saltings' Poems from Essex.

So I finally have a couple of publications with my poems in and therefore am free to post them here. This is the one that went into the Essex Anthology:

Unravelling

The past stood on my doorstep.

Haloed in the soft glow of Once-Upon-A-Time

it arrived and waited, with apparent hopefulness,

on a grey day in the Here-And-Now.

The woman from the Library kindly brought 

the first communication.

‘A man who remembers you rang us.

He wants to get in touch.’

In touch.

It was such loving, young and eager touch.

Laced with Romance.

Sheer pleasure. Laughter. Happiness.

Such happiness I hadn’t known before

and never since.

Laced with triumph.

The biological imperative.

It was glorious.

A wild romp. Carol singing on a freezing night.

Holding hands and snuggling.

Discovering.

The school play; coffees bars; the back seat at the cinema. 

Waiting for the last bus home.

Walking along the empty promenade in winter

swaddled by darkness, mufflered by silence,

we cuddled in the shelters, for the warmth.

The slabby river bed, tidal ooze, silvered by the moon,

disturbing ghosts of Beowulf and his hordes, 

once terrible, now merely tales

fabricated and refabricated,

played, replayed and edited,

as my memories

which on a future day called up to knock.

an unassuming figure at my door.

We talked. His voice familiar.

It should have been a comfort.

Memories flowed from him, as intense as my own, 

shockingly different, equally treasured.

Tainted for him by a loss I had long forgotten,

being rather of a nature to prefer a dream.

Mistrustful of reality.

It should have been a comfort.

So why did I feel an unravelling?

© carol argyris 2013

published:  From the City to the Saltings. Poems from Essex pub. Arts Council England.