Apology for Absense, by Julia Darling
Look, it's as if my heart is a damp cupboard
filled with old brass that needs polishing.
Or I must cover myself with moss, damp down,
try to establish new growth in the rotting.
Sometimes I am ripped for shreds by the North wind
and must curl up beneath a counterpane.
I need to practise dying, to imagine health,
to eat tinned pears, light unecessary fires.
And love can be tyrannical, so sweet, yet edgy.
I am overpowered by its fragrent red roses.
Sitting rooms are too vivid. Things get torn.
I have to disappear, to darn each rip.
Forgive me, brave daughters, for the questions
that I have failed to answer. And my love,
please don't say I malingered,don't be
angry later, when you add up the ticks.
This is from a wonderful collection of poems written by Julie Darling during a period when she was dying from cancer. I cannot recommend these poems enough, though some of my liking for these is due to my familiarity with the places and the streets depicted within.
I have a heart murmur and have to have more tests. The advice is all:
So I guess that's what I'll do, until they tell me other.