family portrait

every time I count the faces in the family portrait

someone has moved

I almost remember who is dead and who’s there

the quick and the good

the background is foggy

a lake and some trees

a cousin near the centre

on his or my knees

I almost remember who is dead and who’s there

I almost remember I’m dead

04 December

We paint over the faces of our forebears

when their time has been.

Blank wall canvases in the church or beyond the industrial walls

tempt further figures from minds to fingers to eyes. 

Do we need to remember so as not to repeat?

I paint to forget.

Inspired by John

(My) mum and (your) dad

Many years ago
today
she arrived crying in the world.
Later I remember she would smile.

Some years more
but still today
and many miles away from her
his parents felt their world complete.
They smiled.

Never knowing
but through the years
they lit the candles together
laughing in a distant unison.

He did not know
and nor did she
and now she is not here
and he does not remember.

For years now
since she left
the celebrations have been singular
but heartfelt
by all.

It would be inaccurate to say

It would be inaccurate to say
I remember chalk springs
and water meadows.
Memory implies they no longer live inside me,
shaping my future,
the clarity of the water chilling my bones.
I can never forget them
or the colour of the foliage
or the too-soon long walk home.

in response to a tweet from @londonlitlab 15/07/21