Bannau Brycheiniog

I made you a cup of tea,
remembering you weren’t here halfway through,
but seeing it through nonetheless.
It swirled in cinnamon circles as it chased itself down the drain,
and I was shocked at the silence of the room,
even though I had no reason to expect anything else.

I tried to take your photograph last night,
half asleep and half hoping that I could hold on to you a little longer,
and everybody tried to talk me down,
taking me down to your graveside,
beside your husband,
where flowers were raised,
and cows grazed in the field next door.

I saw you,
in a dream,
your voice as clear as the waterfalls at Bannau Brycheiniog,
because I’m surrounded by condolences and lilies from strangers.

I wish you’d come back.

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