POEM: “Does she fry her brain with recollection of your faint scent?”


It Goes On

Well now it is perhaps 7 years single
I thought and found myself admitting.
Was that pathetic and was it dull just saying it
There was that time in twenty thirteen, I reckon.

Still, no one talks like him nor did.
Precise, clear, exact, and connected.
No one I wanted to know more than him
Afraid to get personal, I did not beg.

I would make it one-way and always about me
And he would respond with friendship and clarity
And he’d dance me over and over, not stopping
In tolerance, and patience, and sweet problem solving.

O! Bring me your music – are you at all inspired!
Do you wonder about rainy London nights out on your island?
Are you happy with the choice to invest and hunker
And down with family, and friends who matter.

Do you long though for culture?
Gigs and restaurants and Soho dinner?
The international women and their style
And your strut and status from before?

I don’t re-play the old renditions.
I loved you as a friend without conditions.
Still do, and will, beyond the fictions
I am still on your side no matter their opinions.

And they can think me crazy in my catharsis
But they have not walked with you in their thigh cramps.
Does she fry her brain with recollection of your faint scent?
Does she feel triumph in handing you water while you were tucked in bed?

Sylvie Hill 2018