Aperture 

For J.F.

I can't help keeping you with me.
You still haunt my conversations.
I must take your picture from my wallet,
and the photographs of you, of us
sitting in glass cages by my bed;
take one last look,
and throw them somewhere irretrievable.
The one of you coming out of the bathroom
in the hastily applied towel;
the chemist must have wondered,
as he ran off copies for his friends.
And the one of you
bringing in the morning papers in the afternoon,
night dress only half on,
the sun at your back.
We never did read those papers.

These stills are apertures
to another time;
a shutter clicks on another frame
and I remember lying in wait
for you to leave the bathroom,
or the bedroom….
but not me.
I was looking the other way
when that one went off.

I have tried to put you, them, or us
in a box marked "Memorabilia",
but Nostalgia, the sod,
or some blind hope
prevents me from putting on the lid.

By Mat Riches