𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 ― poetry book

003.

QUIET HOUSE

i remember you, i think i do.
i remember walking into your house
as a young girl- purple dress,
( i felt overdressed)
and you told me to sit down.
you felt like a stranger, even if you were family.

i remember you, i know i do.
i remember the two of them giggling.
they were so young.
(young and lost you now).
you poured us a cup of tea as
we raided your endless pit of biscuit tins.

i remember you, even if i don't think i do.
i remember the quiet house i walked into.
she was gone but you held your smile.
you were kind, and you did what you always do.
you poured us a cuppa
as we sat there for supper.

i remember you, i don't think you do.
three or four years- that's enough to wipe the mind dry.
you don't remember your grandkids,
you certainly don't remember me.
and then you died
(you died and you had forgotten me)

i remember you, i hope they do too.
she's twelve and she's eight.
i hope they remember you
because sometimes i feel like you.
your image is blurry, a bit hazy.
i think i've forgotten the sound of your voice
and sometimes i feel i made that choice.

sometimes it feels like i don't remember you.
it took a second for me to think of you-
to think you were the one dead and gone.

back to that quiet house where
your smile kept secrets. i doubt
that your mind wasn't
burning memory that
you'd try and douse
with a few fond smiles and
hastily met helloes
and wondering who that girl is.

because i'm just the girl in the summer.
stay for four weeks, and then gone in another.

because i'm just a child,
i'm hardly that much different.

because i'm just a stranger.
no grand-niece or acquaintance.

you died.

but of me, you haven't the faintest.

rosie speaks!

for great uncle liam:

" death  is just the next
great big adventure. "