Freezer

Thirteen years, gnawing blind,
Paint peeling outwards, upwards, inside,
Her promise of summer never arrives.

Her essence soaked into layered fabric,
Stitched with lifelessness and despair,
A temple held up as a mirror to contrast and compare.

The air hangs low, stifling and unsteady,
Carpets, curtains, fraying at the edges,
Living on the cusp of being just about ready.

Sorrow forms into thickly settled dust,
Her jewellery boxes faded, lie untouched,
Dormant makeup bags for her lips and blush.

A hallway light-switch flickers and flares,
Tripped electrics as I trudge up the stairs,
Nude bulbs and fragment lamp-shades glare.

Sun-bleached sofas stain the front room,
Flowers forgetting how to open in mottled gloom,
Locked in time, tethered to an endless monsoon.

Pride in jaded green, but not with envy,
Muted pinks, plants, pots, dotted Denby,
Pristine in delicate glass and aging mahogany.

She’ll be back in a minute,
She’s only popped to the shops.
The agony of death, the pain of loss.