Stay Close

And as you turn,
You catch a whiff of blue,
It’s him, you see,
But then, where did he go?

You come up to the squeaky iron gate,
That’d never been fixed.
But you don’t need to open it anymore.

You pass over the leaves littering the cobbled pathway,
Just as alive as you are.

There is a shuffle,
You wheel around,
The familiar flash of color,
That disappears from view.
You can feel him there.
You can smell him.
You know he’s there.
He knows that too.

You pause at the decaying wooden frame,
And in your mind, visit the flickering yesterday,
When you’d kissed him goodbye at that door,
And had waited many a rainy evening.

You enter and let it wash over you,
The cindery smell,
The heat,
The crackling flames.
Yet, when you open your eyes,
All that’s in front is the dark house,
And the sound of feet behind you.

You trail over the dusty granite,
Pass crayon squibbles on the peeling paint.
And as you stoop at the familiar table,
Beneath the cluttered ashes,
There’s still a bolt of unburnt fabric,
You wonder…

And he’s still there, in the doorway, you know,
Just out of your sight.

‘It’s okay’
You’d tell him if you could.
‘It’s all over now’

And you wonder what he’s still scared of.
All that was to be gone, has.
All that was to be lost, is.
There’s nothing left to be burnt anymore.
So, what is it that’s still keeping him?

And through the crumbling window,
You stare out at the dying sun,
Across the ravaged spot of withered grass,
Where peonies once grew.

You look,
At the charred walls,
And make out patterns in the soot,
Little grey fingers.
At the blue fragments of the broken vase.
You can still hear its tinkle at it shattered.
You can see it in your mind,
The orange, hungry flames licking at the melting glass.

When you look,
You can see the fingernails etched into the wallpaper.
You can still hear the cries.
You remember the hiss of burning hair,
The wail of dry wind.

And then, you think,
Maybe, that’s what he remembers too.
Maybe, that’s what he’s scared of.
Or is what he’s hiding from, you?

All this time,
You’ve known him to follow you,
To go everywhere you went,
Never letting you out of his sight,
But never, once, coming into yours.
Even in death,
He’s scared of losing you.

‘I couldn’t save you then,
Won’t you come to me now?’

But you’re not sure he hears.

If you with your burnt heart can still love,
Why isn’t he with you now?
Why do you swirl around every time,
Only to catch his shadow around the corner?

You sift through the blackened detritus
Of what was once your life.
Broken photograph frames.
His tiny crib.
And your burnt heart breaks yet again.

As you head back outside,
It is as silent as ever.
As it always is, whenever you come here,
To be alone, with the ashes if your life,
With him.

You pause at the gate,
That will never be opened again.
And gaze back at the house.

You still remember,
Holding him close in the fierce heat.
Not to shield him,
For that was of no use, you knew.
But to make sure
That you were the last thing he saw, felt and touched,
As you promised him
That it would all soon be cooler.

You crouched in that corner.
Him and you,
Staring into the approaching flames.

‘Mum, are we going to die?’

‘Yes, sweetheart. We are.’

‘I want to be with you forever.’

‘We’ll be together. I promise.
Just stay close.’

Your tears dried up in the shriveling heat,
Before they could wet your face.

And he was the last thing you knew,
Before life as you knew it,
Was over.

You can feel him watching you,
But you turn away.

‘Stay close.’

You head into your path,
Your path to nowhere.

He isn’t by your side.
But he’s always there,
Somewhere.
Doing what you asked him to.

‘Stay close.’