lyrics | fictions | episodes ©Edwin Best, 2013-2017
sitting on the bed
notebook raised to the rough angle
of the ridge opposite
where the orange cubes of a new estate
have sprung up against the skyline
I recall another time
I sketched houses in distraction
as one parent raged against the other
in the summer vacation
before they parted
I shouldn’t have started
the light diminishes – evening comes early
evening comes early to all of us
who dwell in the valley
[first posted 26 March 2015]
when I was a boy
I would receive
parcels from Italy
quite regularly
books
I could not read
clothes
too small for me
maternal greetings
fripperies
now I miss them
infinitely
I imagine the room will be small
with pale blue walls
and a neat bed
with a thin coverlet
perhaps a curtained window
overlooking a communal garden
like the one we had
at the flats you never came to
there will be a bedside table
but no books
except for the one you leave behind
after your visit
with the black covers
alongside that copy of The Racing Post
the cleaner was reading
I’d send it back to you
if you hadn’t gone on ahead
I only back certainties now
want no book at all
the sky is orange
the mountain pale yellow
I wrote on parchment
words of great sorrow
words of great tenderness
left for tomorrow
love lies in pieces
nothing to follow
