Past Tense

[delga]

Poetry, written a year ago. More soon.

PAST TENSE

Sitting here in the dining room,
Settled by the porch
And listening to the laughter
Outside on levelled lawns,
I can see
That here is where I’m
supposed to be
This is me.
In amongst the chattering,
The battling for a biscuit
to dunk into spicy sweet tea,
The Nieces fumbling and tumbling
over hands and feet,
Delicious squeals of delight
ring out against the bright breeze.

My Brothers –
so much older –
still in tattered trousers.
Battered baseball caps on backwards,
Turning back the time
Like slides of film on a movie reel,
Clicking through the stills,
Back to long lost yester years
That blinked away too quickly
To hold on to.

Too swiftly the years have transposed
themselves onto
Weary backs and bones,
Etched telling tales
into tired faces.
And they pass the ball
The way they pass the days,
Like an unbroken bond
between themselves
Joined by love and blood.

But things left unspoken
Unravel between
the blood and bones and bonds
So backward baseball caps
Regress beyond summertime sunshine
And yearn for better times.
When silence was contentment
Not a brick wall of contempt
That spans across the continent,
Healed only by these lazy
Afternoons at home in the heat
Playing with their children,
Watched on fondly by a
Mother who knows too much
of family feuds to help her hurting sons.

Behind the windowpanes, ever still
and knowing,
One wife is watching and Mother
is blowing cool breath across
her knuckles
To dispel her fears of fights and fury
and words forgotten, rites forgone
Whilst inside,
The Nephew sleeps,
Curled around his cotton blankie,
Dreaming of Daddy pleading with
Mummy and Mummy walking away,
His sister watching from the door
S’okay, baby, s’okay…
She rushes a hushed lullaby
Made from hollow promises
Transcribed to memory
From shattered nights riddled
With the sound of fights
And fury.
He whimpers softly,
Suckling on his knuckles shoved violently
into his mouth, gnawing with innocent
misunderstanding.

And behind closed doors,
Beneath old hearts,
The child within is begging too:
Pleading, Mummy, don’t go,
Don’t leave me here
Once more, alone
I’m scared and I’m sad and there’s no one
But you
Mummy, please don’t go
Don’t leave me
Where the sun shines too bright,
The air whistles too sharply;
Where people are smiling
But breaking inside,
Mummy -

But his mother never hears him,
Never knows his face
Cannot bear to see him,
Doesn’t have the grace to say
That she was wrong.

Yet I am still contented,
To settle by the porch
And watch the worn out world pass by
The shadows of their life
Because the wounds that mark them
Cannot touch my skin,
No words or whispers
Wake me
In the hollows of the night.
I still have my Mother
With her pale, pale face and softly soothing voice
That sings sweet songs as she washes
The dishes and watches
Her sons play outside in the sun
As though they were children once again,
Instead of fathers with troubles
And brothers without love

I still have my Father
Whose presence sets at ease
The silent tension in the air as
He steps into the house,
Groceries in tow.
He is lord and master
But he is pawn and slave
And when he sees me,
Sitting, still,
He smiles his smile for me,
Pats my hair against my head,
Leans down to place a kiss
Of rosy composition -
Gentle and fragile –
Like his love;
He doesn’t know this child who
Sits so silently, settled by the porch
Watching all the world go by
In wonderment, without wanting
Ever to take a step outside herself
To see the sun and sky.

At least his sons are read, like books,
Loved and treasured and
known over time;
At least his wife, he knows
And loves,
Always loves, as though
there is nothing
more beyond those planes
That smooth over the brow
and curve over the nose,
around the mouth
That sings songs softly as she
washes dishes,
Watches her sons.

Slowly, unashamedly, the circus
came to town
To stand against a windowpane
And watch the world fall down
Around the feet of dancers,
Actors and performers
Too shy to know what must be known,
Too brash to think the motions
Through,
Too ignorant, too bruised
Yet not too tired
They stand and watch.

I stand, I walk with open strides
I still have my love – my pride
Enough to take me from my seat,
Onto my feet
And through the door
They watch, they wait,
They want much more than
Empty promises, hollow words:
Actions, real objects consume
them,
Fill them with need.
So they huddle together:
My Mother, My Father,
My First Brother’s Wife.

I step out into the summer sunshine,
The breeze too bright, against
My better judgement
I step forward –
Hands outstretched.

Inside, My Second Brother’s Son
Is crying in his sleep.
He doesn’t know why.

Give me the ball, I say,
Let me join in, let me play
And Mother cries
As she remembers
How her sons would fight;
How their anger was not tamed
By mutual misery or spite or promises
Of sweets and sugar
Or trips to the park,
Of how their love could not be bought
And how it did not need to be.

Give me the ball, I say,
Let me join in, let me play
First Brother stops to look my way
a pause – too swift to notice -
and pushes the ball another way.

Mother breaks against the glass,
Shatters, thunders in her pain,
Against the cool, clear windowpane
The lines of years transcribed
Upon the planes of face and mouth.
She remembers hearing screams,
She remembers blood,
She remembers Baby Girl
Playing in the dirt,
Pleading, Mummy, please don’t go,
Don’t leave me here
Once more, alone
I’m scared and I’m sad and there’s no one
But you
Mummy, please don’t go
Don’t leave me here
Where the sun shines too bright,
The air whistles too sharply;
Whilst my Brothers bash and batter
And break the skin of one another
Don’t leave me here where
War goes on
Mummy - –

But the Brothers heard her scream
And lay down their fists
No more fights, they swore and soothed
And patted her hair against her head
Kissing away the marks
They bore on Baby Sister’s heart,
No more words of malice here,
No more truce of violence,
No more heated arguments
That break your mind apart.

And listening to the laughter
Outside on levelled lawns –
The Nieces fumbling and tumbling
over hands and knees,
Dancing with the daisies,
Dainty on their feet –
I can truly see
That here is where I’m
supposed to be

This is me.