Somebody died today.
Somebody, with a tiny scrunched up face,
was born, howling at the indignity.
Somebody told
somebody they loved them
and was rebuffed.
(You wouldn't believe how many times
that's happened to me, with good friends,
even when I'd defined terms in advance,
but not today, thank you.)
Somebody felt that feeling
bubbling up, too deep, too fragile
to put words round,
but they were sure, almost sure, that
somebody liked them too.
Somebody bought books, and eggs, and
sausages, and strawberries, and
yoghurt, and peaches, and
a birthday card and
somebody bought wine and chocolate
hopefully.
Somebody slid flowers onto a coffin
and climbed into a black car
saying goodbye in their heart
for the last time
feeling the beginning of absence
the slow swelling undertow of loss.
Somebody smiled at an old man with a dog
and he paused to watch the stranger
out of his sight along the beach;
happier.
Somebody walked home uphill
with aching legs
bursting with words.
(I can write poetry like they do this century
just it usually takes me from
- rather than towards -
the place I want to be.)
Somebody lost their car keys and,
stalled by the searching,
snatching their head back
- it was at their next stop already.
Somebody told a story to a child
who skipped along, putting the end in.
Somebody walked eight miles
and felt proud.
Somebody sat by a window
and longed to be outside,
lowering their sights,
forgetting what it is to be well.
Somebody ate an icecream
carefully catching all the drips
with a neatly curling tongue.
Somebody gave out a new two-pound coin;
the queen is looking older but
somebody has chosen strong words
to set around the edges.
Somebody posted to usenet
reaching out.
Lots of people went to work
in cars, in buses, cheerfully, resignedly,
glad and sorry that it was Friday.
Somebody stayed home sick,
throat rasping, and drank hot lemon.
Somebody came home from hospital
still feeling weak, but so much better.
Somebody cycled up hill,
out of breath, puffing,
turned left at the lights.
Somebody got married
in a white car, with ribbons.
Somebody gave a stranger right directions.
Somebody hugged
somebody, comfortingly, in email.
Somebody hugged an oak tree.
(They don't mind human arms don't reach round.
I've hugged people and trees too big for my arms
and none of them have ever complained.)
Somebody made something
complicated
with tools they understand.
Somebody read something
and knew they could do better.
Somebody posted a parcel to
somebody, full of promise.
Somebody had a day
exactly like every day.
And horns blare and engines purr
and tills ring and muzak pulses
and bells toll and sirens wail
and the tide pounds the shore one wave at a time
endlessly rolling all the way in
and curling up and crashing down.
And all the breathing moments of our lives
are woven together by caring
touch one another by sharing
reach out to each other by daring.
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