Break him open

Break him open

It would be as easy as cracking an egg

Fold him up,

Beat the life out of the living

They are barely clinging

To the prospect of tomorrow,

Every time the wind blows

The smell of defeat

Turns the stomach

The memory of sunlight

The spark of love

Which lights up the eyes of a newborn

Nestled in the comfort of a mother’s arms

Is as evocative of yesterday

As the slightest movement of air

When the man in number three walks into the bedroom,

The smell of her hair

Remembered for a moment

The breath of a kiss

In the hallway.

Living is just waiting

For so many

Washing the same cup

The same plate

Day in and day out.

The lady in the middle flat

Stands behind her door

Waiting for somebody to walk by

Hoping to catch a few words

With a neighbour

A cup of tea and a biscuit

Would be a miracle,

She keeps the worktop clean

Two cups on saucers stand side by side

With sterling silver teaspoons

One set is used much more often

Than the other

Bone china, made in Staffordshire

With a floral pattern,

The whole set belonged to her mother

Inherited, when the old girl died.

She had already written a will

Just to be safe

Not that she thought it was time to go

But you never could tell

And it was better to be prepared

So her mother’s dinner and tea service,

Still complete,

Would go to her daughter,

Not that she ever saw her

She worked in the media

In a job using graphics and computers

Something she had never fully understood

It was all she could do to use a phone

So much of her time was spent waiting

On her own

It is as it should be

The way of all things

Continuity was important to her

It will be how she is remembered,

Just like her mother,

In the things, she leaves behind.

If only the dishy man in number three

Would come down the hall

She wouldn’t mind spending a little time

Getting to know him

He always looked so sad.

She had washed her hair especially

Dabbing a little perfume on her neck

Lily of the valley

Just like her mother.