A Second Whisper

When I leave the house
there is a palpable darkness hovering.
Light pretends to be sun. Earth inhabits
another fragile year, constellations engulf us.
 
Who among us does not think better when alone?
The baby magpie, little trollop, still has its baby fat,
too heavy to fly. Yet it takes a few steps, flaps its wings,
attempts take off. Stops and starts again and again.
 
In the riverboat an egret and goose wait patiently,
side by side. Waiting as if their will alone
will take them across. What better way to hide than
in the company of another who also hides.
 
Aged and dying you grew more tender,
wanting to leave. The house helped me let you.
I knew just how to open your front door quietly.
Its lock a whisper, a second whisper to shut.
 

Lynne Hjelmgaard

in collection A Second Whisper, Sep 2019, Seren Books, ISBN 978-1-1787255-4-2;
published in Poetry Wales, Summer Issue, 2018