Harvey

The phone split the silence
And severed my ties to sleep.
The ringing was an urgent siren
Signalling something ominous.
The bed moaned as he leapt from
The covers. His footsteps
Drummed into the wooden staircase.
After several long moments without a sound
I left the warmth of the duvet to
The stark frost of the morning.
He stood there. A bewildered ghost
In his dressing gown. Still clutching the phone.
It took me a while to coax it out of his hand
And lead him to the sofa.
He spoke with a crisp, soft voice that
Was foreign to me. His mother.
A sudden heart attack.
The next few hours he spent staring at
The wall. I brought him coffee.
But he didn’t drink it. He grasped the cup
Until it was cold.
We returned upstairs and pulled the
ivy green, satin box from its hibernation
on top of the cupboard.
Together we looked at each photograph in turn.
And the words fell from our mouths like tears.
But we laughed with the memories
Like we were teenagers again.
It was dusk.
We knew the long road had begun.
I told him he wouldn’t be walking it alone
And squeezed his hand tightly as he
Returned the box to the
Top of the cupboard.